The Phantom of the Regency
by Paper-Whore
Summary: England 1820. It was love at first sight when Christine met Lord Erik. When she became his wife, her dream came true and her world fell apart. What happened to the man she fell in love with? Would Erik be able to save their marriage?
1. The Man in the Green Coat

**_The Phantom of the Regency_**

"The Regency Era 1811-1820, an era of pride and prejudice where elegance, society and manners were valued above all else... Marriages were made in fortune and love was an unnecessary complication."

My dear Beta, I'm glad you enjoyed editing! Thank you for picking up on the little things.

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

* * *

** The Man in the Green Coat**_  
_

_Mondego_ _Bay, 1808_

"Heaton. A moment," Lieutenant General Arthur Wellesley said, staying Erik when he would have left the tent with the other officers. He waited a moment and considered the young man standing in front of him.

Captain Lord Erik Heaton was an intriguing officer who he was having difficulty assessing. The man looked little more than a boy. Yet, he held wisdom well beyond his nineteen years. The leader of a small company of the 95th, Erik had proved himself as an excellent shot and leader in the short time he had been in Portugal.

He had had little opportunity to talk to the man but had heard quite a lot from the ranks and the officers. Rumour had it that Heaton was in a fight sometime during his childhood and received a face of boiling oil. That rumour did not bother the general – it would only add to the Captain's reputation.

No, it was the talk that Erik's mother was a French aristocrat that concerned him. Apparently Heaton's father met his mother in Paris before the terror started and it was there that his brother was born. Mere months before his birth, Erik's parents and brother fled the capital just as the chaos was beginning and well before there was the threat to the aristocracy. It was his connection to France and his possibly loyalty to the Emperor that concerned Wellesley.

"I have heard that your mother is French."

Heaton remained silent, preferring not to respond to the Lieutenant General's statement. He was never close to his mother who despised him because of the deformity which cursed the right side of his face. His mother, Lady Pénélope Bontecou gladly left the care of her second son to the nanny. Nanny Grey was paid handsomely for having to cope with young Erik.

At ten, Erik watched Pénélope happily wave him off to join his elder brother Benedict at Eton. There and Oxford, Erik excelled in all of his studies. This did little to please his mother who disliked the spare outshining Benedict, the first born and heir to his father, the Marquess of Renton.

When he turned seventeen and left university with his tutor, he quickly commenced the Grand Tour and took in the sites of the Continent. That the Continent was at war did not bother Erik; if anything it added to his excitement and the thrill of the tour.

"You will not have any confusion as to where your loyalties lie, will you, Heaton?"

Erik remained as impassive as possible at the question. It was a fair question considering the times. England was at war with France. He was fighting with the English. He was French. He was also English.

"Sir, my mother may be French, but my father is an Englishman. I am my father's son and that makes me English. My loyalties lie with His Highness King George."

Wellesley offered him a ghost of a smile. "That is what I thought." He paused significantly and looked boldly at Heaton's mask. Erik resisted the temptation to squirm uncomfortably under that intense gaze. "For, if you ever have any problem recalling where your loyalties lie, I will have no problem making an example of you… and your mask."

* * *

_Waterloo, 1815_

Colonel Heaton watched as the 95th boiled up kettles of water on the cold morning on 18th June. The night before, all of Wellington's soldiers had seen a downpour unlike any other. It left the ground muddy and difficult and dangerous to navigate through. Erik was pleased to see his men were checking the readiness of their rifles, ensuring no water had found its way into the powder packets.

The 95th were camped near Mont Saint Jean ridge and were quickly serving hot tea to officers and sergeants. Erik watched the movement of the soldiers in a variety of coloured uniforms move across the landscape according to the Duke's plans for the upcoming confrontation with Bonaparte.

The light troops and German Legion occupied the farm, La Haye Saint. Erik, with Captain Leach under his command had been stationed in a pit halfway up the hill to provide a skirmish for the artillery and cavalry at the top of the steep incline. Three companies were also hidden behind hedges.

In front of the men prepared to protect the main force, was the artillery. Hidden from view of the French, was the infantry. To the right of the 95th was more infantry. The Guards Division defended the chateau Hougomont.

All was relatively quiet until the fighting began in the early afternoon when the French began to fire their eighty gun assault. Heaton and the other 95th in the sandpit could do nothing but wait for the shots to end. The near useless shots fired by the French continued for almost an hour.

Then, the French infantry attack commenced. Heaton could hear the familiar and despised tune of _Vie l'Empereur_ as they advanced in columns, engaging the 95th as they approached the slope. Despite the French's confusion, Heaton, Leach and the men were forced to surrender their place in the sandpit and join the others on the ridge.

The French cuirassiers, having recently gained Haye Sainte with little resistance continued its assault on Wellington's main force. The 95th had just witnessed the slaying of the Germans minutes earlier; the events of Quatre Bras where the 42nd and the Highlanders were trampled underfoot of the horses and slain by the sabres were too recent. When the French issued the order to form a square, the riflemen panicked.

Heaton watched in absolute horror as the mass of French cavalry with their sabres came charging towards him. He was aware of dozens of the rifles running to the rear of Wellington. He wanted nothing more but to join them and run and escape the bloodbath that would be a result of their brush with the cuirassiers. Aware of the need to rally the remaining men, Heaton gave the command to fire at will. They withstood the cavalry assault.

The British cavalry assault saw the seizure of two golden eagles and the retreat of thousands of Frenchmen. Heaton, Leach and the three companies of rifles returned to their positions at the sandpit and Haye Sainte. Here, the men knew some respite, being able to hear, but not see Bonaparte's attack between La Haye Sainte and Hougomont.

At six o'clock, the French infantry attacked yet again. Heaton looked on in a horror as the Germans, having run out of ammunition and taking many casualties fled La Haye Sainte. The French were quick to use their newfound position as means for stopping the rifles in the sandpit. Left with the option to defend the position against the French infantry who were joining the assault and die or live, Heaton, Leach and the survivors returned to the safety of the ridge.

By now, the light was fading with the setting sun. With this fading light came the turn of events Wellington had been waiting for all afternoon. The French Imperial Guard in the centre was defeated. The Prussians arrived on Wellington's left.

The battle was done. Britain and her allies had won.


	2. A Hero's Welcome

**A Hero's Welcome**

Miss Christine Daaé attempted to push her way through the victory parade which passed through the streets of London, celebrating the Duke of Wellington's defeat of Napoleon Bonaparte. She was furious with the ceremony celebrating and glorifying war. What about the men who were not there to join the parade?

Her thoughts immediately drifted to her brother who had been killed ten years ago in the Battle of Trafalgar. Her brother Daniel had been a midshipman, who had purchased a commission at the age of fifteen and died six years later. At the time of his death, he left behind a wife and a son of two years.

Christine had just celebrated her eighth birthday when the news of Danny's death reached the family. She had not been admitted into the drawing room where her parents and sister-in-law Sophia were discussing the news. Instead, she stood at the door, feeling like a misbehaving servant, listening at the keyhole for information.

"Daniel and his schoolboy dreams!" Sophia had cried out loud. "He is dead and I have a son to raise without a father! What am I to do?"

That outburst had stuck with Christine for much of her life; it was never forgotten. It had been pushed to the back of her mind as she applied herself to her governess' lessons and thoughts of her coming out.

A few months short of her eighteenth birthday, Christine had recently made her social debut with her presentation to the Queen. At one of her first balls, she befriended Daphne Walter, a woman, several years older who was married to one of England's officers posted on the Portugal Peninsular. As much Daphne missed her husband, she was glad daily that they did not have children. She was terrified of the thought of raising a son without his father to guide him.

Christine was now on her way to the Foundling Hospital, her maid following closely behind in an attempt to keep an eye on her employer in the crush of people. Christine had a very unique relationship with Quintin and trusted her more than any other person – except Daphne. Christine's parents knew nothing of her charitable pastimes, and if they knew of them, she would not approve. If her father were ever to find out, Christine was certain he would lock her in her room. She shuddered to think of his reaction should he ever discover her plans to establish her own school when she came of age.

Simon Daaé had been born to Reverend Daaé in a small and not very wealthy town. Simon was taught from a very early age to work for what he wanted and that was precisely what he did. He became a silk merchant and earned his money through his business. Simon did not see the reason wasting money for charity on people who were unwilling to help themselves. During the course of their marriage, Simon's views had rubbed off onto his wife.

Christine mounted the steps of the hospital and requested to be shown to the dining hall where the children would be having their luncheon. The housekeeper opened the doors for her and Christine was met with several excited "Miss Daaé"s. She smiled at the young children when she saw their bright faces.

* * *

_November, 1819_

Erik and Lieutenant Ashlyn Walter sat in their quarters of the ship that was transporting them back to their homeland following the conclusion of the three years of the British army occupation of Paris.

Erik could not help but be aware of the alarming increase in space on the return trip. Far too many men had been lost during Napoleon's sixteen years of war. According to reports, fifteen thousand men in the allied armies had been injured or worse. The 95th alone had lost twenty-one men and over one hundred injured.

Erik shook his head at the thought of so many wasted lives. Many of the men were nothing more than boys, eager for a taste of glory. He wished that somehow their families would have been spared the expense of having to read about their son, father or husband's death in the paper.

Erik had survived.

Now, he was left with the task of picking up his life where he left off. He had had enough war and fighting to last him a lifetime and planned to resign his commission the moment he reached England. The idea of retiring to the country with a wife and children held a great deal of appeal, but that would never be. No woman would willingly marry a man who wore a mask across the right side of his face and had scars across his body.

He took a swallow of his brandy and his eyes met Ashlyn's.

"Do you have plans for England?" Ashlyn asked. In his mind he was imagining his homecoming with his wife and her joy at seeing her husband returned in one piece after so many years at war.

Erik shook his head.

"Will you go to Renton House?"

"Perhaps."

Erik knew he should return to Renton, but he had no desire to see his favoured elder brother, his charming wife and two pretty daughters. On the condition that Benedict had not had any sons in his time on the Peninsula, Erik was still heir presumptive. The thought made him shudder; he had enough contact with arrogant peers in the army. He had no desire to become one of them.

"Well, if you have no definite plans at this current point in time, say you'll come to the Cotswolds with me to see Daphne. It will be nothing more than a few days in the country until you are accustomed to having English soil under your feet. Then, you may do anything you please. What do you say?"

Erik considered the other man's offer. A few days in the beautiful country would do him a world of good – and give him time to consider what to do about his brother.

"Of course."

* * *

Erik stood back and watched uncomfortably as Ashlyn's beautiful blonde wife went rushing into his arms. In his mind, he noted her unladylike behaviour, but could not bring himself to comment or judge. She was seeing her husband for the first time in close to seven years. She had the right to act like a child. 

The couple continued to embrace and whisper between kisses, completely oblivious to the gathering staff and their guest. Ashlyn stepped away from his wife, placing a kiss on her lips before pulling her against his side and introducing her to Erik.

"Daph, Colonel Lord Erik Heaton. Erik, my beautiful Daphne."

Daphne Walter held her hand out to Erik, which he simply bowed over. "Thank you for allowing me to make use of your hospitality, Mrs Walter."

"Nonsense!" she cried with a slight wave of her hand. "Any friend of Ash's is more than welcome in our home. Now, no doubt you are both exhausted after your journey home and would like to rest. Mrs Baker will show you to your room; I have arranged for you to have the Indian suite, Lord Erik. We will serve tea in half of an hour."

Erik inclined his head in silent acceptance of his hostess' plans.

Daphne watched Lord Erik climb the stairs behind the plump housekeeper. His mask intrigued her. No doubt it was the result of a war wound. She was pleased that her husband had befriended the peer and did not seem bothered by the mask.


	3. Nabob's Daughter

**Nabob's Daughter**

_Summer, 1820_

Christine and her mother sat in the carriage as it drove through the dark streets of London. Tonight they were promised at both Lady Dockland's dinner and at Mrs Landon's ball. It was close to eleven o'clock as they were making their way to their next engagement.

The carriage turned down King Street and Mrs Daaé let out a disgusted sniff at the sight of the last minute rush of subscribers eager to enter Almack's before the eleven o'clock curfew.

"I cannot believe those cats!" Maria said angrily as she pulled up the window with a snap and closed the curtains.

Christine did not need to know who _those cats_ were. She had heard this story many times in the past four years. The patronesses of Almack's were her mother's personal nemeses. She sighed as the speech began.

"Those patronesses think they rule London; refusing you a voucher for their precious club. And on what grounds? _The Trade_! You are a beautiful girl, with good lineage and an heiress at that! They could not bear to dirty their hands with the Trade."

"Yes, Mama," Christine responded automatically. Her mind was on the process of account keeping she planned to introduce to the girls at the school. She was not thinking about the voucher for the exclusive club her parents tried year after year to obtain for her.

It was true that Christine was an heiress worth two hundred thousand pounds – a more than considerable sum. However that was not enough for the seven patronesses who repeatedly refused the voucher of the grounds that her father was a merchant.

At eighteen, Christine had learnt very quickly the restrictions being the daughter of a cit placed on her. Despite her vast fortune, very few men wanted to dirty their hands by marrying into the trade. Both Maria and Simon wanted their daughter to gain a title – preferably an earl or higher. Her dowry was very tempting to a fortune hunter.

She raised her chin in defiance. As if she gave a fig that she was not admitted to the club. Unlike most women in society, Christine with Mrs Walter's help was running a boarding school for the children on England's killed soldiers.

Three years after meeting Mrs Walter, at the age of twenty-one, Christine came into her inheritance and set her carefully constructed plan in motion. She arranged for her family solicitor to find a building suitable to act as a school for the children. With Daphne's assistance, she began to employ trades to ensure the place was habitable and began interviewing potential teachers. Three months after Christine's twenty-first birthday, the school was running.

"Christine! Are you listening to me?" Maria snapped when her daughter did not respond.

Christine shook off her thoughts and turned to her mother. A frown marred her forehead. "I agree, Mama. They were wrong; it is petty and small minded."

Maria nodded in agreement with her daughter. "Your father would dearly have liked to see you dazzle those women in their assembly rooms before he passed on. Why if I ever saw…"

Christine turned her attention to the other side of the carriage and watched the traffic pass by. She had long ago accepted that she was the daughter of a cit and was therefore excluded from the Upper Ten Thousand. She just wished her mother would also.

* * *

Christine took a sip of her tea as she listened to Harriett Windsor and her hostess Mrs Jane Charlemagne argue about the representation of the heroine in the latest book that had been anonymously published precisely a year earlier. As always, the meeting with ladies with similar interests in literature proved to be vastly entertaining and enlightening.

"She is self-righteous. I could not like her!" Harriet exclaimed as she pulled open her much read copy to read a passage to support her position.

"I have to disagree with you Miss Windsor," Jane responded calmly. "Perhaps her actions may be interpreted as self-righteous, but I think she is a complex character and grows as an individual through the book."

Christine smiled at her hostess' calm reaction to the younger woman's passionate argument. She took another sip of her tea, hiding her smile behind her teacup. Perhaps she would encourage her girls to read the book. She would like to hear how a ten year old girl's interpretation compared to those of the ladies here.

The clock tolled the hour and Mrs Charlemagne spoke up to address the entire room. "Ladies, it is time for us to end our meeting for another week. Please be sure to read _Antony_ _and Cleopatra _before next week.

"Miss Daaé!" Christine raised her attention from pulling on her gloves to see her hostess joining her on the settee. "You were very quiet today, Christine. Is something the matter?"

"Of course not, Mrs Charlemagne; I am in perfectly good health I assure you. I apologise if I did not speak up enough. I suppose I have a few things on my mind."

"Of course; your children," Jane nodded her head wisely.

Jane was one of the few people who knew of Christine's involvement in the school. She was quietly pleased at the young woman's devotion to the children. Christine was a rare woman who had thoughts beyond what she should wear.

Christine smiled. "Yes, my children. Now, if you will excuse me, Mrs Charlemagne, I really must be leaving if I am to visit the children before my mother returns home. Thank you for such an entertaining morning."

* * *

Erik stayed with Daphne and Ashlyn for far longer than he intended. Following Christmas with the Walters – where Erik felt very much as if he was imposing on their time together – he toured England for several months. Late June, he returned to further impose on their hospitality.

Every night it was the same routine; following dinner, Erik and Ashlyn would sit in the dining room to enjoy their brandy and cigars then join Daphne in the drawing room for tea and civilised conversation. Fifteen minutes later, Erik would rise, excuse himself, bow to Daphne, nod to Ashlyn and retire to his room.

Having watched this same behaviour every night, Daphne turned to her husband her head to one side as she considered the situation. Ashlyn was immediately concerned at what she was planning when he saw the thoughtful expression in her eyes.

"Lord Erik is such a lovely man; he is so polite and knowledgeable. It is such a shame he was injured in the wars. I think we should to hold a small house party. It is the perfect setting for Erik to meet a bride."

"Daphne…"

"Oh, you need not think I will invite any silly empty headed females," she assured him, preventing his protest. "I do not think his lordship could tolerate a simple wife. No, he needs a woman who he will be able to have a nice long conversation with."

"Daphne!" Ashlyn wanted no part of his wife's plans. A house party with the sole purpose to arrange an alliance between his friend and a young woman was courting danger. He had never seen Erik take any notice in a woman.

Of course there was the issue of his mask.

"I can think of perhaps a half dozen ladies from my literary group who I am sure would be delighted to come to the country for a fortnight or so. Ashlyn, we will need gentlemen to make up the numbers. Do you still keep in contact with your friends from school or the army? Give me their direction and I will invite them along."

"Daph, this is a foolish idea."

"No, it isn't Ash. This is precisely what Lord Erik needs."

Daphne smiled at her husband and nodded with determination. She could think of a few women who might be suited to be Lady Erik.

* * *

"Christine!"

Christine sighed as she slammed the large ledger book closed. She had been sitting at the desk for the past hour, attempting to balance the accounts for the school with little success. This latest interruption on the behalf of her mother was enough.

She crossed across the room and was greeted by her mother standing in the hallway brandishing a letter.

"There you are! Look, dearest, look! Your friend Mrs Walter has invited us to her home for two weeks in the country. A fortnight in the country; just think of the match you might make! She has addressed this to you also," Maria said, handing a sealed letter to her daughter.

"Thank you, Mama." Christine took the letter from her mother and prepared to return to the study to read it privately. When she saw the look in her mother's eyes, she knew that would not be an option. She quickly scanned the letter. "Daphne asks after your health and asks that we arrive a day early so that I can bring her up to date with the latest London gossip. You do not mind, do you, Mama?"

Mrs Daaé nodded. "Yes, I suppose that will be fine. I will go and talk to the staff and prepare to close the house for the two weeks."

Christine nodded absently. She drifted into the study and sank down onto a settee as she read the letter. She smiled at her friend's request for an update on the progress of the students at the school.

_London gossip, indeed!_

* * *

The day before they were to set off for the Cotswolds, Christine sat in the back of a classroom, watching the young girls as they attempted to master the difficult task of keeping a ledger. She was delighted to see that many of the girls were progressing well with the subject. Introducing account keeping into her curriculum was a very bold move, but she and Daphne were certain that the ladies would be more employable and better equipped to run their own house.

"I did not expect them to progress so well!" Miss Brambles, the accounts and arithmetic teacher said proudly. "Many of these girls are progressing much faster than I ever imagined."

_Many of these girls._

Christine was aware that several were struggling and Miss Brambles was at her wits end with them.

A book slammed shut loudly. Christine knew that sound all too well. It was the sound of a ledger being closed with frustration. Had she not done the same thing only last week? The girls were looking at the blonde who had her arms folded angrily across her chest and whispering.

"Back to your work, ladies," Christine instructed in her best teacher voice. She joined the blonde at her desk and opened the book. "You do not enjoy accounts, Jenny?"

The girl shook her head, her curls bouncing. "It is silly. I plan to become a milliner; I do not need to know how to keep accounts. I can employ someone to do it for me."

"You may be able to," Christine agreed. "However, it may take a while until you can do so. Then it will take away from your profits. You would save a considerable sum if you or one of your ladies were able to do it. Perhaps I can help you?" She smiled softly at the girl.

Jenny reluctantly nodded her head.

Taking up the girl's pencil, she drew up the ledger on a new page and began to assist her through the exercise, substituting the typical household accounts to those of a hat shop. In ten minutes, the girl had made considerable progress. She was now able to see the purpose of a seemingly purposeless subject.

Christine smiled at the blonde head ducked studiously over her work. _This_ was why she loved her school so much.


	4. The Incurable Matchmaker

**The Phantom of the Regency**

A/N: This seems to be the week for notes. I will confess that Regency romances are one of my weaknesses. If you ever lose me in a bookshop you know where to find me! It is such a polite and romantic time period that you can't help but love it. Now, music and the arts will play a small role in Erik and Christine's life, but they will not be the main focus of the fic. I'm thrilled that you are enjoying my story.

* * *

**The Incurable Matchmaker**

"Mrs Daaé and Miss Daaé," the Walter butler, Hobbs announced as he pushed open the doors of the drawing room where Daphne was waiting their arrival with impatience.

"Christine!" the woman jumped from her seat and rushed to greet her friend with a warm hug. "Dear you look wonderful; you must tell me how London is. Mrs Daaé, how was your journey?"

"It was tolerable. There was an accident, which slowed us considerably, did it not, Christine? I have a headache and would like to rest for a while if I may, Mrs Walter. I do not mean to sound ungrateful…"

Christine's nose wrinkled. Her mother truly was the most shocking traveller. Anywhere further than Brighton was too far!

"I understand, ma'am. My housekeeper will show you to your room. I will have a tray sent up presently."

Daphne watched the older woman quit the room before sitting down on the settee and demanding all the latest news on the school and London. The two women were hidden away in the drawing room and had quite lost track of the time.

"I think you need to find a new accounts teacher when you return to London," Daphne said. "I do not think Miss Brambles is suited to teaching. If she was as unable to help Jenny as you say, it is most definitely time she began to look for a new position."

Christine nodded in agreement; she too had been thinking the same thing. Perhaps she would be able to instruct the girls until a suitable replacement was found. The children always liked it when she joined their classes.

At four o'clock, a maid with the tea tray entered the room, followed by two gentlemen. Christine had never met Daphne's husband, but she could tell from her description that the fair-haired man who entered the room first was her host – and her friend's husband. Daphne and her husband were the perfect match; both blonde with blue eyes.

"I did not know your guests had arrived already, Daphne," Ashlyn said as he glanced between Christine and his friend.

"Only Miss Daaé and her mother. I have not seen Christine since last year's Season; I thought we might have a day to ourselves before the others arrive."

Erik's suspicions were confirmed. The frenzied movement of the servants and his friend's desire to keep him outdoors made sense. He was now part of a house party which, for some reason Ash did not see the need to tell him about.

"Now, Ash, stop arguing with me and let me introduce you both to my friend. Christine, this is Colonel Lord Erik Heaton and my husband Major Ashlyn Walter. Gentlemen, Miss Christine Daaé."

"Major Walter, Colonel Heaton," Christine greeted the men with a smile and a curtsey.

"Actually, it is Lord Erik," he informed her in his melodious voice. "I have recently resigned my commission."

For the first time, Christine noticed the mask that covered the right side of Lord Erik's face. How she had missed that, she did not know. Perhaps it was that it seemed to suit him somehow.

For a moment, she allowed her mind to wander at the image he must have presented dressed in his green uniform with the black frogging.

"Then I must congratulate you both on returning to England. And you to, Lord Erik, for being able to decide to leave the army."

Lord Erik looked down his nose at Christine's comment. He was filled with an uncharacteristic wave of anger towards a woman. "Why should you care whether I returned or not; you do not know me."

Christine fought the impulse to glare at the man. "I should not care for any more unnecessary deaths than we have experienced because of this war. You are one of the lucky few who have been able to return home."

"Christine's brother was killed at Trafalgar," Daphne explained before the two could throttle each other.

Erik nodded. He liked that the girl was not intimidated by his mask or his cool attitude. She had very quickly put him in his place – and did not give it a second thought.

* * *

Dinner that night was relaxed. Tomorrow night's dinner would also be an informal meal with after dinner games as the first of the guests arrived from their journeys from London. As such, Ash took the opportunity to escort his wife into the dining room, leaving Erik the responsibility to take both Mrs and Miss Daaé. 

When Christine took his arm a feeling similar to an electric shock passed through his body. He shrugged it off, assuming it was due to exhaustion. Ash had them riding over his property all day.

The meal proved to be a lively affair as Miss Daaé and Mrs Walter carried most of the conversation. Christine laughed as she recalled the argument that had resulted between the literary ladies the previous week. "You should have heard the set-down Mrs Charlemagne gave Miss Windsor when she called the heroine a prig! Jane basically accused her of failing to read the novel carefully!"

"You are both members of a literary group?" Erik asked, surprised. He would not have thought that the Miss Daaé would take interest in anything beyond fashion. The gown she was wearing clearly was of the highest quality and he assumed to be in the current fashion.

Christine nodded and smiled at Erik. "We are both very passionate about our readings and our meetings. Is that not so, Daph?"

Mrs Walter nodded, agreeing with Christine. "It is an opportunity to discuss the books we have read with likeminded ladies. It is a very enlightening experience."

Mrs Daaé sighed, like the tormented mother that she was. "I really do not see what it is that is so fascinating about talking about books. In my day, it was not done…"

Christine shared a glance with her hostess before she returned her attention to her plate, occasionally offering a 'yes, Mama'. She knew the speech nearly as well as she knew the Almack's voucher speech.

Young ladies should never take an interest in anything such as a reading group. Heavens, they would be branded a bluestocking! Gentlemen wanted to feel smarter than their wives. They did not wish to marry a bluestocking.

Mr Walter must be a genius! Christine thought with a smile. If he was to feel smarter than Daphne – who happened to be one of the smartest women she knew – he certainly must be very clever.

She took a sip of her wine to hide her smile. Lord Erik was watching her with a curious gleam in his eyes. Erik raised his glass as a silent acknowledgement before returning his attention back to his plate.

Erik and Ashlyn rejoined the three ladies in the drawing room after more than an hour. Daphne was very quick to beg Christine to entertain them with a performance on the pianoforte. Erik looked less than amused at the idea of being subjected to the torture of listening to Miss Daaé's barely passable piano playing.

Christine sat down and began to play. Erik was willing to admit he was wrong. The lady was more than competent. If he was to be fair, she was brilliant. She had a perfect combination of technique, interpretation and passion.

"Ashlyn says you would sing. Please, Lord Erik, join Miss Daaé." Daphne looked imploringly at her guest.

Erik reluctantly crossed to Miss Daaé and together they chose their next piece.

Christine sighed in delight when she heard Erik's high baritone voice. All in the room had to admit that theirs was a match made in heaven. Christine's perfect playing coupled with Erik's divine voice was more than enough to convince Daphne that she was correct.

Christine could not stop the second sigh from escaping her lips. She smiled at Erik as she continued to play. He was beautiful.

* * *

The following day was spent in a mad panic for Daphne as many of the guests began arriving with trunks and servants in tow. It was not until just before dinner that all the guests – having rested from their journeys – were together in the one room. 

Erik stood back in the corner of the room watching the events unfolding around him. He watched as Mr and Mrs Walter busily introduced the guests to each other. He was very aware of the guests watching him with ill-disguised curiosity as they took in his covered face. He was used to that. He had spent his entire life being stared at.

There were four ladies who were all chatting with Miss Daaé at the other end of the room. They were obviously members of the same literary group. There was the dark haired and friendly Miss Drusilla Blair, the two blonde sisters Ladies Lily and Kate. Miss Harriett Windsor – the woman who fails to see character growth.

The gentlemen were at various points around the room talking to each other or the chaperones. Scott Riddell seemed handsome enough, though a definite dandy in his powder blue breeches and bright yellow waistcoat. Mr Warwick Felton was a handsome man with pale blonde hair and dark blue eyes.

It was the very handsome and very French Vicomte de Chagny who set Erik's teeth gnashing. The young aristocrat was the Walters' neighbour. He had lived in England since his escape from Paris as a four-year-old with his parents during the reign of terror.

Lord Erik escorted his hostess into the dining room following the butler's announcement that dinner was served. The Vicomte escorted the Lady Kate while Christine was taken into dinner by Mr Felton.

For much of the meal, Erik found himself glancing down to the other end of the table where Christine sat. He liked hearing her speak and the interesting and teasing things she said. At least she was not near the too dashing Vicomte!

Following dinner, Mrs Walter again convinced Christine to play the pianoforte. There was a momentary struggle of wills between Lord Erik and the Vicomte as they fought for the privilege of turning Miss Daaé's pages. In the end, Raoul won and joined Christine at the instrument.

He smiled down at her and to Erik's pain; she returned his smile with a bright one of her own.

* * *

Christine slipped down the stairs as the last of the guests making up the hunting party exited through the front door. The thought of her host and the male guests chasing after a fox, terrified beyond belief upset her. 

As far as she was aware, many of the ladies were sitting in the drawing room gossiping and working on their cross-stitch. Instead, she had decided to spend the day reading. She needed quiet.

She closed the door of the library softly behind her and began perusing the numerous volumes that the Walters had amassed over the years. After approximately half an hour exploring the books, Christine found a book which interested her. She sat on the ladder for a few minutes as she wiped the cover clean from all the dust and began to read the first chapter. She let out a soft sneeze as the dust settled in the air.

"Bless you."

The book fell from Christine's hands as she looked around for the owner of the voice. She had been in here for a while and had not heard any one enter the room.

Erik moved from his chair in the corner of the room to retrieve the forgotten book and assist Christine down from the ladder.

He had been enjoying reading in the silence of the library, preferring the solitude to an afternoon riding after an animal. The door had opened quietly and closed behind a figure dressed in a yellow morning gown. Erik immediately recognised Miss Daaé who obviously did not know he was there and settled back to his book.

His book remained on the same page it had been opened to when Christine entered. He took the time to observe her, unseen. For the first time, he noticed the little things she did. She would wrinkle her nose when she was not impressed by a book and would bite the tip of her thumb as she tried to contain her excitement. Her blue-green eyes would sparkle. Her chestnut curls often fell in her eyes and she pushed them behind her ear with an impatient hand.

"I did not know you were in here, Lord Erik," she said as she placed her hand in his and climbed down the ladder. "I imagined you would have gone hunting with the others."

"No, I decided against joining them."

Christine was disappointed by Erik's lack of response. She had seen him watching her at dinner the last few nights from his position near the head of the table and thought perhaps he would like to further their relationship.

"You do not mind if I join you, do you?" Christine asked nervously, perhaps he wanted the room to himself.

"Not at all," he assured her, handing the book back to her after glancing at the cover. He raised a brow. "_Confessions _in original Greek."

Christine accepted the book from him, cradling it against her chest. "I would sit in on my brother's lessons. I learnt more from Danny's tutor than I did from my governess."

Erik nodded. He knew that females were given a very different education to males. He was pleased that Miss Daaé had a broad education. The pair stood in silence for a few awkward moments.

"Would you care to take a walk with me? I thought to draw the view from the hill." Erik blurted out. It was far too hot and oppressive indoors. "Of course you do not have to-"

"I would like that." Christine smiled brightly at him. "I will have to change; I will only be ten minutes." She rushed out of the room, vaguely noting that Erik stood for her.

Eleven minutes later she met Erik at the bottom of the stairs, her maid tagging behind. Christine was now dressed in a pink walking dress with a matching bonnet, her slippers swapped for walking boots. They slowly made their way up the hill, each lost in their own thoughts.

"You said that you planned to draw. Did you draw the landscapes in Portugal, sir?" Christine asked in an attempt to draw Erik out of his thoughts.

"Yes, I did. I was posted there for seven years and then in Paris for four years and drew hundreds of sketches of Portugal and the army."

At the top of the hill, Erik pulled out his charcoal and paper and began to sketch the view. Christine sat to his side, watching him draw and the picture quickly began to take shape.

Christine plucked a daisy from the ground and began to make a daisy chain, unaware that Erik was sketching her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as her fingers quickly plaited the stems together.

She heard the sound of the hunt below her and wondered how the fox was faring.

"_No_!" Erik screamed. He reached around to his back, searching for his rifle and not finding it. He swore loudly, causing Christine to blush at his language.

Christine stood in horror as she watched her escort rise to his feet, ready for combat. He looked as though he was ready to run down the hill to where Christine had heard the hunt. Horses… the hunt!

She had heard stories of soldiers returning after war and reliving the experiences over and over again. Apparently the men would imagine they were on the battlefield when something triggered a memory. Erik obviously had a confrontation with French cavalry.

She remembered the way her brother would instinctively drop to the floor every time he heard a loud noise as if expecting cannon fire. At the time it made no sense, but now, she realised that he was very sensitive and stressed.

Quintin was trying to hold her back from Erik, but she shook off the maid's grip and ran to his side. She grasped his arm, only to find her wrist caught in his other hand.

"Erik," she whispered softly. His grip tightened. "Erik, you are hurting me. Lord Erik, it is safe. You are safe. You are back in England. The French will not find you here."

In an effort to calm him, she raised her hand to his cheek and began to caress it lovingly. Christine's governess would stroke her cheek whenever she was upset and it seemed to work for her. Eventually Erik loosened his grip and his eyes lost that haunted expression.

"Christine?"

She smiled at his use of her given name. She should correct him; she had not given him leave to address her so informally. But formality seemed superfluous after what she had just experienced. Besides, the way he said her name made her smile. It made her feel as if she was wrapped up in a warm blanket with a large pot of hot chocolate.

"Are you well?"

Erik looked at Christine's pale maid and swore under his breath again. He had terrified the servant and Christine to a lesser extent. He ran a hand over the left side of his face.

"It is time we were returning."

Erik led the way down the hill back to the manor. He silently cursed himself for allowing his guard to drop sufficiently to allow himself to experience the cuirassier's attack again. It was not at all the image he wanted to portray to the heiress.

Christine could sense his black mood and silently followed him. She smiled at him as he assisted both herself and her maid over a stile. She felt bereft when he quickly removed his hand from hers once she was safely on the ground. Christine wanted nothing more than to place her hand in the safety of his, but instead clasped her hands tightly in front of her.

Once indoors, Christine watched as Erik removed his hat and gloves. She could feel the tension around him. Its strength surprised her; she could almost touch it.

"Don't tell anyone what just happened," he insisted as he looked between Christine, the drawing room and the stairs leading to the first floor. Judging by the noises that were emanating from the room, it was obvious the hunting party had returned and were all excitedly recounting their adventure. At the moment, all Erik wanted was to escape to the solitude of his room.

"I would never! I will talk to my maid, although Quintin knows when to keep her the things she sees to herself." When he would have turned away, Christine stopped him. "Lord Erik," she said softly, reaching out to touch him gently on his forearm, "We all have our own nightmares."

Erik looked down into Christine's little face in confusion for a moment before turning on his heel and climbing the stairs two at a time.

* * *

Following dinner the ladies and gentlemen sat in the drawing room playing card games, gossiping and drinking tea. Erik pulled Ashlyn aside, his eyes tormented. He had reached the difficult decision following his disgrace in front of Miss Daaé that he had to leave. 

He had to leave the Walters' house and would forget Ashlyn, his riflemen, the hell and all he learnt in Portugal. If he stayed with Ash he would constantly be reminded of everything he was trying to forget.

"You can't go!" Ash informed him in a shocked tone.

Erik rubbed his forehead, trying to ease some of the tension. "I have to. I can't be here."

"Where will you go?" Ashlyn realised that his friend was serious. For whatever reason Erik had decided that he was going to leave. It was clear he was not going to explain himself.

Erik shrugged. He did not know where he would go. Perhaps he would stay at an inn for a while. He had never been to the Lake District; it was said to be very pretty. Maybe he would go there. In short it did not matter where he went; just as long as it was away from anything that reminded him of the army.

Ashlyn sighed. "If you feel you need to go, then you must go. But please, wait until the morning. Daphne would be devastated if you left without saying goodbye."

Erik reluctantly nodded. He settled himself in a chair in the corner and looked at the guests. He could see them as they sat talking, drinking and laughing. It felt as if he was watching them from a far distance. He had been an observer his entire life, yet this felt different. He felt distanced. He felt detached from everyone.

Christine and Daphne were sitting on the settee silently watching the interacting guests. Daphne had seen her husband and Lord Erik talking very seriously. She could not like the defeated look Erik wore. Daphne made a mental note to quiz her husband after all the guests had retired for the night.

"What do you make of Mr Felton?" Daphne asked in a whisper.

Christine smiled. "He is a veritable gentleman; very polite. He has a lovely dry sense of humour. He has escorted me to dinner these past three nights."

Daphne nodded as she considered Christine's description of the bachelor. "Dru seems quite taken by him."

Christine looked at her friend with round eyes. Was she thinking of arranging a match between Drusilla and Mr Felton? She watched the couple as they played against Lady Kate and the Vicomte in a game of whist. Drusilla pointed to one of her cards nodded and then giggled at something Mr Felton said.

"They do make a striking couple, don't they?" Christine asked with a soft smile. "You think we should encourage them?"

Daphne laughed. "I already have! Who do you think arranged the tables for whist?"

Christine shook her head in mock despair.

"Now, dear, tell me, what do you think of Raoul?"

Christine choked on her tea and required Daphne to pound her back. She was prepared for questions about Lord Erik. She was not expecting her friend to question her about the Frenchman.

"I could not say, Daph. I have not had much opportunity to speak to him. He did escort me into the drawing room this evening."

"And?"

She shrugged. "He is very amiable."

"Lord Erik is more than amiable," Daphne retorted. "He is the heir presumptive to his brother's title."

Christine blushed at her Daphne's comment. Yes, Erik was more than amiable.


	5. A Summer Courtship Part I

**A Summer Courtship – Part I**

Erik handed Christine a plate of food and felt his heart lighten ever so slightly as she smiled her thanks. After he was certain she was comfortable, he settled down on the blanket at the alfresco lunch between her and his host.

It was not his idea of fun to be outdoors in the middle of the day with the large group of guests. Hell, he did not even want to be here or taking part in silly house party activities. He had no interest in anything other than attempting to drink his sorrows away in solitude.

When he attempted to make his farewells to his hostess, Daphne had quickly convinced him to stay for luncheon. When he learnt that it was an _al fresco_ lunch, Erik knew he was stuck. Daphne would not allow him to leave; the numbers would be uneven.

"May we join you?" Warwick Felton asked with a smile as he and Drusilla approached their group.

Daphne and Christine smiled first at each other before turning to the couple. "Please do!"

So now, Erik found himself pressed against Christine's body as they moved to make room for the extra two people. Again the slightest touch of her body to his sent shocks through Erik's body. It reminded him when he assisted her down from the ladder in the library yesterday. Had it really only been a day ago that he had first felt the tremors that his touch caused? The blanket really was too small.

Erik could not eat. He picked at the food on his plate as he watched Christine from the corner of his eye. She also seemed affected by his nearness judging by the way her face was a delightful shade of pink. Or perhaps she found his touch unpleasant.

When they had finished their lunch, Daphne stood and brushed off her skirts. "I am of a mind to go for a walk. Christine, Dru, would you join me?"

Christine nodded and rose with Erik's assistance. She held his hand for a few moments longer than etiquette strictly allowed and delighted in the feel of his gloved hand around hers.

Drusilla laughed and opened her parasol. "I do not think I could move, even if I wanted to! No, you go without me; Mr Felton and I will stay here."

Daphne glanced up at the group of mothers and chaperones who were gossiping and dozing in the shade. The young couple were close enough that they would not be able to get up to any mischief. She nodded, took Christine's hand and began to lead the way to the gazebo.

Erik and Ashlyn followed behind the women at a slightly slower pace. Erik swallowed nervously at the strain he had unnecessarily placed on their relationship.

Ashlyn sighed as he watched his wife and her friend talking in soft voices. He had to smile at the sight of the two beautiful women; one with dark curls under a navy parasol and the other with blonde hair hidden beneath a mint green bonnet.

"It looks like my dear wife is back to her matchmaking ways."

"Miss Blair and Mr Felton?" Erik questioned, thankful for Ash's attempt to ease the tense silence.

Ash nodded. "I think Miss Daaé is involved. At least Daph will get a minimum of one couple married thanks to this house party."

"Speaking of which," Erik demanded as he turned to glare at his friend, "Whose idea was it to hold this damned party anyway?"

Ash considered lying for a moment. _Let Erik take his temper out on me._ But he thought better of it. "My wife deserves all the credit."

Erik said nothing. He could not rail at Daphne and he could not blame Ash for giving into his wife. The men walked in silence and were able to hear snatches of the ladies' conversation.

"Ash!" Daphne gasped and turned around, her hand outstretched to her husband. "Look, there are ducklings in the pond. Quickly, come with me and we can watch them."

Ashlyn shot Erik a tortured look before he and his wife when rushing off to view the ducks swimming in the pond.

Erik and Christine were left alone.

Erik stared at Christine.

Christine stared at Erik before she smiled at him. "Daphne has a weakness for baby animals."

"Yes, so I noticed," he responded wryly. "We had best return; we do not have a chaperone."

Christine glanced around for the first time and noticed just how far away they were from the group. She quickly fell into step beside Erik and was surprised when he did not offer his arm. He was one of the few gentlemen who was so obsessed by the rules of etiquette that he would not even touch her.

Erik sensed Christine frowning up at him. He cast about for something to say to her. The tension between them was unbearable.

A twig in the distance snapped.

Erik swore loud enough for Christine to hear and blush. He spun around to face whatever had caused the noise, pushing Miss Daaé behind him. His whole body was tense.

Christine timidly raised a hand to his shoulder. "Lord Erik, it was nothing but a rabbit."

After a moment, Erik allowed his shoulders to droop and his body to relax. It had been nothing but an animal; a small harmless rabbit. He ran his fingers through his hair. He was a fool.

He began a quick walk back to the chaperones. Again Christine and Erik lapsed into silence.

"Were you able to finish your sketches?" Christine asked suddenly. "I should like to see them when they are finished."

He looked down at her in surprise. Did she really mean that or was she just saying that to be polite? Erik thought of his collection of sketches hidden in the bottom of his trunk. He was not sure if he was comfortable with Christine seeing the drawings from Portugal. He certainly did not want her to see the sketches from yesterday... particularly the portrait he did without her knowledge. Erik wondered why he had not thrown them all in the fire. Perhaps he hoped Christine would request an opportunity to look at them.

Christine continued speaking, disrupting Erik from his reverie. "From the very little I saw yesterday, you have a very special skill." She sighed. "I wish I could draw. My poor governess would often despair at my lack of artistic ability. I think the only reason she did not resign was because I was able to play the piano and sing."

A very slight smile curled the corners of Erik's lips. She had played the piano the last few nights and he knew she was very gifted. He would love to hear her sing. "Perhaps we could work on your sketching."

Christine smiled at him. "I would like that very much," she said softly as she slipped her arm through his.

* * *

Erik looked up from the glass of brandy he was swirling aimlessly. He was surprised by how quickly things had changed. Five years ago, he had been on the Continent, sitting around campfires with his men watching them laugh and make bawdy jokes. He would occasionally appreciate their humour and their exploits – it was their way of coping with the war. Ash would often recount tales of the 95th's adventures with the local women and Erik would nod and occasionally chuckle. But now, as he listened to the way the _gentlemen_ were discussing their mistresses and the things they would get up to in bed, he was repulsed. 

It was fortunate most of the men were unmarried. Erik was filled with an almost uncontrollable rage as he imagined married men betraying their wives' trust. Oh, he was not naïve or romantic enough to imagine that it never happened, but he had promised to himself that if he ever married, he would never break a promise he made to his wife. That it was almost fashionable in the society to have a mistress concerned him. If he had a wife…

Erik abruptly stood, the chair scraping along the floorboards. The other gentlemen stared at him, their expressions curious.

"Good night, gentlemen," he muttered with a nod of his head as he quickly quit the room.

_If he had a wife!_ The unfinished thought echoed enticingly through his head. If he had a wife he would be the perfect husband. He would spoil her, treat her like a queen and give her anything she wanted. If she cried, he would kiss away her tears. He wanted to be there by her side and see her smile at him. He would be unfashionable and live in her pocket and dine with her every night.

Erik sighed as he pushed open the door to the terrace and stood in the warm night air. He stared up at the stars, contemplating his life and his reaction to the after dinner conversation. He had learnt a long time ago that he would never have a normal life with a wife and children. He learnt that it was foolish to wish for the impossible.

Christine set her teacup down with a slight rattle. Her head was aching owing to being out in the sun for most of the day. This was one of the few headaches she had ever suffered and she was eager to stop it from becoming like the migraines her mother regularly suffered. She wanted the refuge of her bed and the dark, quiet room.

She could not help but glance at the clock – the gentlemen should have finished their brandy and cigars by now!

If only they would hurry and join the women in the drawing room, then she could go to bed. She pinched at her temples for a moment before turning her attention to Drusilla.

Unable to tolerate the throbbing any longer, she rose, bade her mother and hostess good night and slipped out of the room. As Christine quietly released the handle, she rested her head against the door, summoning the courage to mount the two flights of stairs to her chamber.

She had taken the first step up the stairwell, when a quiet set of footsteps caught her attention and sent her spinning around. Erik continued to walk towards her, not stopping until they were mere inches apart.

"Lord Erik," Christine greeted him weakly. She was aware of the need to reach her room but that was forgotten as, for the first time she had the opportunity to look into his eyes. His above average height and half-mask had made it difficult for her to see his eyes.

She was surprised how gentle his eyes actually were – particularly for a man who had been at war for so long. They were a pale blue with brown which seemed to complement his light brown hair. They seemed to hold an almost bewitching quality. As he watched her they seemed to soften even further.

"Christine, are you not feeling well?" he asked, noticing her pale skin and shadows under her eyes. His hand reached out and touched her elbow gently to support her. He paused as he belatedly realised his lapse. "May I call you Christine?"

She smiled softly. Only Erik would ask permission to call her by her given name. It seemed that there were still some gentlemen who would have fitted in well at the Round Table. Lord Erik was one of them.

"Yes, you may. It is nothing, just a headache. I assure you, Lord Erik, I will be perfectly fine after a good night's rest."

Erik shook his head at her stubbornness. "If I am to call you Christine, it is only right that you may call me Erik." Surprising them both, he took up the hand that was resting on the banister and pinched between her thumb and index finger. "This is a point that helps relieve headaches. It may take a while, but it helps."

"Thank you."

"Have your maid mix lavender in cold water and press a cloth against your head."

"Thank you," she whispered again.

"Good night, Christine."

Erik raised her hand to his lips and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. He watched Christine as she slowly made her way up the stairs with heavy feet. Did the feeling of her skin against his lips affect her the same way it did him?

He waited until he heard the sound of her door shutting before heading to his own chamber. Not that he would be able to sleep, Erik thought angrily. Perhaps if he was lucky he would snatch a few hours of sleep before the dreams came again.

* * *

Christine stood next to Erik as she listened to Ashlyn announce to the assembled guests that the doctor had just seen Drusilla and was certain she would make a full recovery. She gasped at the thought of her friend still lying battered and bruised after falling off her horse an hour ago and automatically reached for Erik's hand for support. 

The day had started off like any other. The ladies all breakfasted together and discussed the gentlemen or a piece of literature they had recently read. They were then rejoined by the men, and in high spirits went out to the stables and mounted their horses for the steeplechase that Ashlyn had organised.

Much to her mother's horror, Christine took part in the race along with Drusilla. Lord Erik was also anxious about Christine's ability to keep her seat during the jumps. He decided, very gentlemanly to stay by her side for the duration.

She watched as Erik swung up into the saddle of the horse. He was dressed simply and finely in back unmentionables and a dark green riding coat. The clothing did nothing to hide his muscular thighs and broad shoulders. He was a natural born rider and seemed at one with his loaned mount.

Of course he would have ridden a lot as a child, growing up on an estate and then later on the Peninsular. He certainly missed his calling in the infantry. She would have liked to see him in his uniform atop a horse issuing orders.

Christine smiled at Erik. The man was sticking to her like feather to tar! He clearly did not know of her riding ability and was worried she was fall off the horse. Well, if he was by her side, at least he would be able to play her saviour!

The race was nearing its end when it happened. Christine and Erik were a few yards ahead of Dru and Warwick who they took the jump over the hedge at the same time. Dru's mare cleared it easily but landed awkwardly. She was thrown to the ground with a scream, the horse landing on top of her.

At the sound of the cry, Christine turned around and wheeled her horse around to her friend. She slid from the saddle without Erik's assistance and knelt next to Dru and Warwick. Dru was lying unconscious with a cut across her forehead. Christine ran a hand over Dru's head smoothing the hair from her face.

"We have to get her back to the house," Warwick said in a strained tone. It killed him to see his sweetheart lying limply on the grass.

"Ash, go back to the house as quickly as you can and send a cart to collect Miss Blair," Erik instructed his friend in much the same tone he issued orders as a colonel. "And take the others with you!"

The three sat around Dru's body as they waited for Ashlyn to return with the cart. It finally arrived after what seemed like an hour. In that time, Mr Felton had removed his coat and placed it under Dru's head as a pillow. There had been little response from Dru. She was however, able to squeeze Warwick's hand lightly when he took her hand in his.

"Come away, Christine," Erik said gently as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

Warwick carefully scooped Dru up, her head lolled back limply. He carried her to the cart and gently placed her in the back before covering her with a blanket and climbing in with her.

Erik hardened his heart to the sight of Christine's friend. There was no difference between this young woman and his men, he reminded himself. It was clear that Christine had never experienced anything of the like. When Drusilla's head flopped back he swore softly.

Christine whimpered and hid her head in Erik's shoulder and clutched his waist. Acting on instinct, Erik raised a hand to her hair before quickly setting her away.

"Drusilla will be fine," he assured her with more confidence than he felt. "We need to be getting back."

Erik assisted Christine up on to her horse before mounting his own. The two returned to house in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.


	6. A Summer Courtship Part II

**A Summer Courtship – Part II**

"Your friend is a taskmistress!" Erik complained as he and Christine wandered through the winding maze. "I was under the impression that house parties were supposed to be relaxing."

It had been several days since the picnic. In that time, Erik had all but forgotten his desire to be far away from Ashlyn. His hostess ensured that all her guests were kept busy by organising games and outings – no doubt trying to ensure that Lord Erik did not get away. Whenever Erik was able to think of leaving the Cotswolds, he found he disliked the idea. Oh, he still wanted to escape and forget the army, but there were just two people preventing him from doing so.

Christine laughed as she rushed to catch up to Erik. "Daphne loves to be busy. She has five charities to which she regularly contributes her time. I think she forgets that not everyone likes to be as busy as she."

Erik nodded his agreement with Christine's observation.

"Which way?" Erik asked as he glanced between the left and right forks of the maze.

He waited for Christine to respond. When she did not, he turned to the left and began to follow that path.

"You are going the wrong way. It is right."

Erik turned around and faced her, his brow raised in silent enquiry. "What makes you so certain?"

"My bedchamber overlooks the maze!" she cried, frustrated that he was so convinced she was wrong. She crossed her arms defensively across her chest and frowned at him. "It is a shortcut if you go right."

Erik nodded and silently followed Christine. Five minutes later, they found themselves in the centre of the maze with its fountain, surrounded by several Greek statues.

"It seems we are the first here." Christine smiled at Erik as she settled onto the ledge of the fountain. She dipped her fingers in the cool water as she watched Erik pace.

"Now what?"

"We wait for the others to catch up, and then gloat when they see that we have beaten them!" She laughed at his shocked expression. "I was twitting you, Erik."

Erik sat next to Christine and watched her fingers as they moved through the water. She pulled her hand out and shook the water off. Pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket, Erik gently took her fingers in his and dried them one at a time.

Christine observed him from beneath her lashes. She could feel the heat of his fingers warming hers. His fingers began to tremble. He was no more immune to the sensations than she was. When he had completed his task of drying her hands, Erik took Christine's hands in his own.

"Erik," Christine breathed. She looked up from their joined hands to see his eyes had darkened and were gazing intently into hers. "Do you feel it too, Erik? This feeling every time we touch; that we are meant to be together? It is so right." She sighed contentedly.

"When I am with you I begin to wonder if I have been missing something all these years and if that _something_ was you. I have never met a man as brilliant as you. If I ever have a concern, all I have to do is look at you and then know everything will be fine. You will make everything okay."

Erik pulled his hands away from hers quickly as if he had been burnt. He rose and began to pace in front of Christine.

"What you are feeling is not real," he said as he turned around to face her.

His words quickly sobered Christine, popping her bubbles of happiness.

Christine was on her feet; hand on hips glowering at him. "Do you think this just an infatuation, Erik?" Christine demanded. "I am not some fickle debutant who changes her mind with the weather.

"Society exists for the sole purpose of marrying off young girls; it is called the Marriage Mart! I have been out for four years and have not once imagined I could marry any of the men I have met. I would like to respect, admire and even _like_ my husband. But if I can find a man that I love and who cares for me – if not loves me in return – I am content. I know that you care for me."

Christine wrinkled her nose up in distaste at the thought of suffering a society marriage. The thought of enduring a partnership for the mere sake of having an heir held no interest or pleasure. _Good morning, sir. Have a good day, sir. Will you be going to your club tonight, sir? _She scoffed at the thought.

"I do care for you, Christine," Erik admitted grudgingly. "But you need a husband your age."

"You are barely thirty, Erik."

Erik tilted his head at her announcement. He felt every one of his thirty-one years...And then some.

"There are less than ten years between us! My father was thirteen years senior than my mother. What is truly the problem?"

Erik gestured to his face.

"Do you think I care about your mask? You are the man I love; I know what lies under that mask. _You_. We are right together!"

Erik laughed coldly. "If you believe that, then you clearly have not seen beneath this mask."

"Erik…"

Erik shook his head, cutting off her plea as he began to retrace the maze. Christine stared at him in frustration for several minutes before rushing after him.

So much for her plans to profess her love to him and have him sweep her off her feet and flee to Gretna Green! She knew he liked spending time with her. Apparently that was not enough for a marriage with Lord Erik.

* * *

Christine accepted the dance card the Vicomte handed back to her. She glanced down to see his name scribbled on the page three times. One of the dances was the waltz. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Lord de Chagny, I cannot waltz with you."

Raoul looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I do not have permission to waltz."

"You have not received permission from the patronesses?" Raoul looked mortified.

Christine hung her head in shame for a brief moment before raising her chin and forcing a smile. "No, I have never been fortunate enough to dance among the patronesses."

Raoul laughed at her sarcastic comment before he crossed his name out. "Very well then, Miss Daaé. I will see you for the minuet shortly."

Christine curtseyed to him and watched as he made his way around the ballroom, writing his name on ladies' cards as he went. She sank down into the chair next to her mother. She was thankful she had missed the entire exchange with the Vicomte.

"There you are, Miss Daaé!" Daphne smiled brightly at her friend. "Dear, I would like to introduce you to another of our neighbours. Lady Poppy, my dear friend Miss Christine Daaé. Christine, this is Lady Calliope."

The women curtseyed and quickly fell into a comfortable conversation. Christine considered the lovely petite Lady Calliope with her black hair and dark blue eyes. She was beautiful and had the bearing of a peer's daughter.

"You read Latin, too, Lady Calliope?" Christine gasped amazed that she had found another female who was able to read the language.

"Please, call me Lady Poppy. Yes, I do; I have been reading Latin since I was four. My father would spend hours teaching me the language."

Christine smiled. She glanced around the ballroom, her eyes softening for the briefest of moments. "You must call me Christine. I used to listen in on my brother's lessons. I did not have the aptitude for sewing or watercolour."

Lady Poppy laughed. "Nor did I! Oh, my poor governess tried and tried, but all to no avail. I was very much my father's daughter."

Christine nodded. She could easily understand her upbringing. She was so pleased to meet another lady who was able to speak Latin. It seemed Poppy agreed with her observation that a lady's education was not as exciting as a gentleman's. Christine made a note to herself to suggest introducing Latin to the girls.

The night passed quickly for Christine, but at an agonisingly slow pace for Lord Erik. He escorted Mrs Walter from the floor after his dance with her to her awaiting husband. He froze for a moment when he saw Ash was standing with Miss Daaé and her mother.

"My waltz, I believe!" Ash said with a smile as he swept his wife onto the floor and into his arms.

Erik and Christine stared at each other in yet another moment of awkward silence. The events of the afternoon were too fresh in their minds. For the first time, Christine wished that she had received those coveted vouchers from Almack's and would be able to waltz with Lord Erik.

"You are not promised for this dance, Lord Erik?" Mrs Daaé asked.

Erik paused uncomfortably. "No, ma'am. I am not."

"Good. You and Christine will fetch Mrs Roberts and me a drink. It is frightfully hot in this room!" she exclaimed as she fanned herself.

"Of course," Erik muttered as he bowed and offered Christine his arm so that he would not lose her in the crush of people.

"I am sorry for my mother's behaviour," Christine apologised as they made their way to where the table of refreshments had been laid out. "She can be very persistent."

Erik found a reluctant smile forming. "Much like her daughter, I imagine."

Christine returned his smile shyly from under her lashes. "It is one of my worse traits. Along with my interest in literature and my inability to sew a straight line."

Erik laughed at her light tone as he handed her a glass of Madeira. "Having an interest in books is not a crime, Miss Daaé. And there are people who make it their job to sew straight. I see no problem."

Erik took two of the glasses and led Christine back to where her mother was sitting with the chaperones.

"I noticed you have not danced either of the waltzes tonight." His tone was neutral, yet he encouraged her to open up to him.

Christine felt like doing a dance on the spot when she realised that Erik had been watching her throughout the night. She had been dreadfully disappointed when he had not asked her to dance with him. But the knowledge that he had been unable to keep his eyes from her pleased her greatly.

"I have been denied vouchers to Almack's for the past several Seasons. Every year my mother tries to obtain them, but every year she fails. Needless to say, I have not been given permission to waltz.

"I really do not mind," she hastened to assure him. "I cannot imagine why people are so eager to become members of such a club! One only has to look at how the Duke of Wellington was refused entry because he was not wearing the appropriate attire. If that is how they treat such a distinguished peer of the realm, there is little hope for a young woman whose father was a merchant."

Erik frowned. He had been out of the country for so long he forgot all the stories about the tabbies, their domain and their silly little rules which were not written anywhere. He too had heard tales of The Peer's treatment at Almack's.

"Surely you could dance here?"

Christine shook her head. "I don't dare. Perhaps if I was the daughter of a peer, I could. But since I am the daughter of a cit – tarnished by the trade – the slightest hint of scandal could ruin my reputation.

"My family is not without its influence; mayhap I could intercede on your behalf."

Christine raised her free hand to his cheek, thankful of the palms that hid them from view. "That is very kind of you, Erik, but it is best that you do not. I have accepted the way of things and I would not like to cause any difficulties for you or your family."

His pale gaze found Christine's. He felt the connection that had always been there grow stronger. It seemed as if the bond would be that much harder to break.

Erik swallowed at the feel of her silk-covered hand as it caressed his bare skin. He longed to cover her hand with his or transfer it to feel her hand on his mask. He wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss her with all his pent up desire of the past week and a half!

The fake giggle of one of the guests brought them both back to reality. Offering Christine his arm, Erik escorted her back to the safety of her mother. With a bow and a lingering look, he was gone.

They never discussed the conversation in the maze. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they would just pretend that it had never happened and move on. Christine had accepted this and given up her hopes of having a spouse. If she could only have Erik as a friend, then she would be content. She would force herself to be content.

* * *

The next morning following breakfast, Christine and Daphne joined Drusilla who was still bedridden. The two ladies did their best to amuse their restless friend by relating the occurrences at the ball.

"It really was a thousand times more entertaining than Almack's," Christine informed with a cheeky smile.

Both women laughed and Daphne playfully swatted Christine's arm.

"You have never been to Almack's, Kit. How would you know?" Dru demanded giving her a playful frown. "Although, I do not doubt you are correct. Our Daph is one of the greatest hostesses in England; even a small musicale is a spectacle!"

Daphne blushed at such praise.

"Tell me, did Mr Felton miss me?"

Christine and Daphne shared a secret look and nodded their heads. They could not help but note how dejected Dru's gentleman had been during the night. At one stage, Ashlyn was forced to threaten to throw his friend out if he continued to attempt to check on Dru in her bedchamber.

Dru cried in delight. "He has developed a _tendre_ for me, hasn't he?"

"I think it is safe to say he is head over ears in love with you," Christine said as she squeezed Drusilla's hand. She managed to hold back a sad sigh when she thought of her failing relationship that never was. She should be happy – she was happy – that Dru had found someone who made her feel loved.

"What is not to love, Miss Blair?" Daphne asked rhetorically in a teasing lofty tone.

"And how does your beau go, Kit? Daph said that the two of you play and sing for the guests after dinner every night. Apparently your performances just get better and better." Dru paused as she watched Christine's face soften as she recalled the time she and Erik spent together playing. "Did Lord Erik ask you to dance with him?"

Christine felt the colour rush to her face. No one knew of her conversations with Erik. In fact she doubted that even Daphne was aware of the sudden coldness that had formed momentarily between them.

"No, he did not. The only lady Lord Erik danced with last night was our hostess." As hard as she tried, Christine was unable to keep a note of resentment from her voice.

Daphne smiled to herself. Was her friend jealous that Erik had not asked her to dance with him last night? It seems that they both spent the entire night watching one another from the opposite side of the ballroom. They were definitely made for each other!

"Did he talk to you at all last night?" Dru demanded. She wanted to know all the sordid details and settled herself deeper into the pillows.

"Mama encouraged us to fetch some refreshments for her and Mrs Roberts. That was the first and last time he spoke to me."

"You are forgetting to tell Dru that you and Erik spent a few minutes during that time in deep conversation behind one of my palms. It seemed like a very intimate moment."

Christine blushed a deep red when she realised that Daphne had obviously witnessed her exchange with Erik. "Nothing happened!"

Drusilla laughed. "That is generally what they say when something _did_ happen. So, what _did_ happen? You must tell me; you cannot leave without informing me!"

"We spoke about Lady Jersey refusing to present vouchers for Almack's. Erik offered to intercede and see if he could talk the patronesses around."

Daphne and Drusilla both noticed the way Christine referred to Lord Erik by his given name. This was a very significant slip on her behalf. Daphne smiled to herself.

"He didn't kiss you, did he?" Dru asked, imagining the couple embracing behind one of Daph's strategically placed palms.

"No, he did not. Lord Erik is a gentleman!" Christine defended him. Even as she said the words she wished that he was not quite so gentlemanly and had kissed her. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she imagined his lips on hers.


	7. An Arranged Marriage

**An Arranged Marriage**

Christine and Erik were sitting in the library, each left to their own thoughts as they read. Since their first, unexpected meeting some ten days ago, Christine and Erik had fallen into a comfortable routine. Following luncheon each day, when the eligible guests would have free reign as the chaperones rested they repaired to the two wing chairs in front of the fire to enjoy the other's quiet company. They spent the entire afternoon working on sketches or reading. Occasionally they would venture into the drawing room to sit side-by-side on the pianoforte stool and play in a comfortable silence.

Christine often wondered if Erik was trying to avoid speaking to their host. She was not sure but it seemed as if the two men had suffered a blow to their friendship. As worried as she was for him, Christine could not help but be pleased at the amount of time she was able to spend with Lord Erik.

Drusilla and Warwick and Daphne and Ashlyn were strolling out on the lawns in the warms sunlight. Christine spied the two couples as she glanced up from her book, having finished the chapter. She smiled at Erik as he glanced up at her noting her movement and crossed to the window seat to watch her friend and her suitor.

The Walters were there to lend countenance to the young couple who walked arm in arm, their heads close together. Christine could not be happier to see her friend building a relationship with Warwick. Dear Dru was such a fun and loving woman, a husband and children were precisely what she needed.

A knock sounded at the door and Hobbs entered with a letter addressed to Miss Daaé on a silver tray. Christine opened the letter and let out an outraged cry as she read the missive.

Erik was on his feet the moment he heard her cry. He carefully watched her expression, wanting to comfort her, but not sure of his welcome. He watched the fury flit quickly across her face to be replaced by panic and anxiety.

"Erik!" She was in his arms before either of them knew what happened. Christine wrapped her arms tightly about his waist as she buried her face against his chest and cried.

Uncertain what to do in response to the unexpected display of emotions; Erik forced himself to act on instinct. His left hand rubbed her back soothingly, while his right tangled in her hair. When she looked up at him with tears staining her face, Erik impulsively wiped one away.

She sighed and rested her head against his chest, much calmer. She knew being in Erik's arms would have such a wondrous calming effect on her. She would go anywhere and do anything just to be with him – in his arms.

Christine sighed and wrapped her arms tighter about Erik's body. This was how Mrs Daaé found her daughter when she entered the library to discuss their return to London in two days' time.

"Lord Erik! Christine!" Mrs Daaé's startled cries brought the couple out of their comforting embrace.

"I can explain, ma'am," Erik began lamely.

He could not believe this had just happened. He had studiously avoided her determination to marry since the incident in the maze. Any avenue of escape was shattered when he assessed their state; his typically immaculate cravat was crumpled and several of Christine's pins were scattered about their feet. The fact that they had their hands all over each other could not be easily dismissed.

"Mama, this is not what it looks like," Christine said as she rushed to calm her mother. Throwing up her hands as her mother turned to their host and hostess with indignant rage. She saw Drusilla and Warwick join the ever increasing crowd growing outside the room.

"My daughter is compromised! Your guest has ruined my daughter's reputation!" She pointed an accusing finger at Ashlyn. "I would have thought that you would have selected your friends and guests more carefully, Mr Walter!"

Ashlyn stared blankly at Erik in surprise who was carefully avoiding all sets of eyes – including several members of the staff.

"And you, your lordship, what do you have to say for yourself? I cannot believe someone of your reputation would have sunk so low to compromise an innocent. Ruined!" Mrs Daaé continued. "Oh, I cannot bear to think of it."

"I will of course offer Miss Daaé the protection of my name if you believe it is necessary, ma'am." Erik knew his duty. He should have known it was too good to be true to find solitude with Christine in the library and have no concern of her reputation. He was certain Ash and his wife knew of the time he spent in Miss Daaé's company, but neither said anything.

"_No_!" Christine cried as she ran to Erik and gazed at him, silently begging him to withdraw his offer.

"Christine, you are emotional. Go up to your rooms, I will send Quintin to you," Maria instructed her daughter.

"Erik, don't do it," Christine whispered to him as she slowly backed away to carry out her mother's instructions. She cared for him too much and could not bear the thought of him hating her for forcing him into a marriage that he did not want, and as a result of something that certainly was not his fault.

"You had best listen to your mother, Miss Daaé."

"I do not want to marry his lordship!" Christine shrieked as she glared at her mother before rushing up the stairs, aware of Daphne following behind at a slower pace. "I would rather die!"

The last thing Christine saw as she headed for the safety of her room was Erik's injured expression.

* * *

"What happened?" Daphne asked once Quintin had settled Christine in her bed. "I do not believe your mother's claims that Erik ruined you."

Christine threw off the covers and began to pace, her lawn nightgown whipping around her legs. "He did _not_ compromise me! If anything, I did it myself. I threw myself at him and he comforted me as I cried. It was nothing more than an innocent misunderstanding."

"What upset you? It was not something his lordship said, was it?"

"_Heavens_!" Christine exclaimed as she hurried to the dresser where she had left the letter she had received a half hour ago. "It is from Mrs. Otis. She says that the landlord is threatening to close the school if she does not pay the rent by the end of the week." She handed the letter to Daphne to read. "Many of the children contracted measles and she had to call Dr Haswell with money I gave her for the rent. What are we to do?"

Daphne read the letter carefully; things did look bad. They only had two days until the school would close. Then what would happen to the children?

Christine watched as her friend thought of several possible solutions to their problem. Not only did they have to find the money to pay their impatient landlord who had always been opposed to having a school in his building, they also had to find a way to have it to his bank in London. She did not have the money required; the quarter was ending and would not receive her pin money for another fortnight. For a moment, she thought of Erik.

If he was her husband, she would naturally turn to him and request the money. But he was not her husband yet. Could she ask that he assume his duty of her before they exchanged their vows?

"I will talk to Ash. We may rely on him to save our school," Daphne promised as she rose from the _chaise_ by the window and handed the letter back to Christine. "Do you truly have any objections to marrying Lord Erik?"

Christine looked at her friend with wide eyed surprise. She wanted nothing more than to become his wife. It was his lordship who had the objections to marrying _her_. She had done that to save him. She had to save him from his silly male honour and save what she could of their friendship.

She shook her head, unable to hold back the truth.

Daphne smiled. It seemed that her plan to arrange a match between her friend and her husband's friend worked out better than she could have hoped. Christine felt something for him, and she was certain that Erik returned her feelings.

"Now, dear, I want you to rest. I will be back when I have some news for you." She kissed Christine's cheek before crossing to the door and heading down where Erik and Maria Daaé were in serious conversation.

* * *

Erik stood by the fireplace of the library listening to Mrs Daaé's list of complaints. She was none too happy about her little Christine – the daughter and heiress of a wealthy merchant – marrying a deformed younger son. She had big plans for her child including marriage to a marquess or duke.

"I will immediately write to the archbishop and arrange a special licence so that we may be married as soon as possible. I have to return to Renton to make arrangements with my brother," Erik said. He was already imagining the cold homecoming he was expecting from Benedict. "Before I leave, I will send an announcement to London."

Mrs Daaé found herself reluctantly impressed at the ease with which her future son-in-law arranged everything. "May we expect you in London for the ceremony or do you have somewhere else you would prefer to be married? From your family seat?"

Erik laughed mirthlessly at the question. It was typical for peers to be married at their country home, but he would never marry there; Renton was not his home. If anything, he would prefer to marry here at the Cotswolds from Ash's home. "No, I will call on you in London once all is arranged."

"Christine is a good girl, your lordship. She is quick to learn and has always done what her father told her. Despite the nature of your marriage, Christine will make you a good wife."

Indeed, Erik thought as he recalled the way she had cried dramatically she had no intention of marrying him.

_I would rather die! _

He could not imagine Christine behaving and acting the proper wife when she was forced into a marriage against her wishes. He could easily see her trying to injure herself as a means out of a distasteful union.

"If you have nothing further, madam, I will take my leave. My regards to Miss Daaé." Erik formally bowed as he quickly left the room to pen a letter to _The Times_ and the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Erik slammed the front door as the dressing bell rang before swinging up into the saddle of the horse Ash lent for the journey to Renton.

* * *

The more time she had to reflect on the situation, the more she realised her mother was correct. Christine and Erik had spent a significant time unchaperoned in each other's company. Anything could have happened during that time. The news of their embrace would have passed through the guests and staff alike. Christine knew she could rely on Daphne and Ashlyn to keep silent about the scene, but she could not be certain about any one else.

The bell rang to dress for dinner. Daphne had come upstairs an hour ago to inform her that Ashlyn was sending the money down to London immediately with a rider. Her mother still had not come up to inform her that she would be marrying Lord Erik. She imagined having to face Erik and –

She suddenly recalled the look of pain that had crossed Erik's face when she informed all and sundry that she had no desire to marry him. Did he think that she did not want to marry him? Would he think it was because he wore a mask or would he realise she said that so he would have a way out of their predicament?

Without ringing for her maid, she pulled out a dress from the wardrobe and began to dress for dinner.

* * *

Erik stood in the drawing room of Renton House, assessing his surroundings. His mother's favourite room which had been decorated in a dark green had been replaced by yellow walls and drapes. As much as he disliked the room he was very rarely admitted he preferred the sombre nature to the overly cheery look the new Marchioness of Renton had created. It seemed his sister-in-law was a fortune hunter enjoying her new status painting the room the most expensive paint on the market, he thought sardonically.

When he arrived at the front door some seven minutes ago, their family butler took one look at him and smiled a greeting before ushering him into the drawing room and pouring a brandy. Fagan had changed very little in the years since Erik had last been in Renton House.

Erik spun around at the sound of the door opening.

"Erik."

He swallowed at the look of disdain in his elder brother's eyes. Hidden behind him was a russet haired woman who was obviously his wife. Lady Renton obviously had not been expecting Erik's mask as she gripped her husband's arm for support with one hand while fanning herself with the other.

"Benedict," he stiffly greeted his brother.

"What brings you here?" Benedict asked as he saw his wife settled in a wing chair and standing protectively behind her.

"I have come to ask if you would be willing to sell the estate at Cornwall. I am aware it is unentailed and am willing to purchase it from you." Erik's jaw tightened as he watched his elder brother's outraged and then calculating expression.

It galled him that he had lowered himself as far as to have to ask his brother for the use of the Cornwall property. He could not have Christine living with his brother once they were married. He doubted Benedict would allow them to stay there. He was marrying Christine in a little over a week; it really was not enough time to find a house and begin the typical proceedings. At least he would have Christine's dowry to pay for the house and would be able to salvage his pride to some extent!

"I read in _The Times_ that you are marrying. A cit's daughter, Erik!" Benedict exclaimed in mock outrage.

His younger brother had been the bane of his mother's existence, going off on his Grand Tour in the middle of the war before fighting against the French. It did not surprise him that his brother was marrying into the trade. 

"Miss Daaé is an accomplished young lady," Erik said, defending his fiancée.

"Is the house for your wife?" Benedict asked to which Erik refused to respond. "You want the Cornwall estate?"

"It is the only one unentailed. I have already said I am willing to pay for it!" Erik snapped as he stood to pace the room. "What the hell do you want me to do? Allow me to buy the estate and you need never see me again!"


	8. A Marriage of Inconvenience

**A Marriage of Inconvenience**

Christine allowed her maid to dress her for bed on her wedding night. Lord and Lady Erik Heaton were staying at a quiet inn on the way to Cornwall and had managed to obtain a private parlour and the innkeeper's best room.

Pleased with her work, Quintin left the room with a soft congratulations and an encouraging smile. Christine rose from the stool to stare blindly down at that courtyard below. Her wedding day had not gone as she had planned.

She and Erik were married from the drawing room of her home in London rather than the local church or Renton House. Several ladies from her literary circle, including Mrs Charlemagne and Miss Blair had come to witness the ceremony. Naturally Daphne acted as Christine's matron of honour. Ashlyn stood as Erik's best man and was joined by a few of the officers and soldiers who served under Erik.

The food at wedding breakfast, she was certain, tasted divine, but to her, it all tasted bland. Immediately after cutting the cake, Erik whisked Christine away, claiming they had a long journey to Cornwall.

In the eight days' since she had last seen him during the confrontation in the Walters' library, she had realised that she missed his company and had been looking forward to seeing him at their ceremony. Considering how busy Mrs Daaé kept her with fittings for dresses, hats, slippers and gloves for her trousseau and the time she spent secretly at the school, Christine was surprised she had time to notice her missing beau.

Erik pushed open the door of the room and watched Christine as she stared out the window, oblivious to his presence. He was surprised that, weeks ago, the dark haired beauty considered herself in love with him. He knew it would not last, but was amazed that she did care for him. Perhaps the marriage could work…

"Christine." Her name was out of his mouth before Erik knew what was happening.

She spun around and smiled weakly at him. Her mother's advice for her wedding night still echoed loudly through her head. _It will hurt. Let your husband take the lead; he will know what to do._

Christine wished Erik would say something to ease the anxiety building within. The room seemed to have shrunk suddenly; all the furniture closing in on her. The fire roared within the grate warming the room and causing sweat to prickle on Christine's skin. Gasping for air, she was aware of her husband coming closer to her, his white mask reflecting the light from the fire in a ghoulish way. The room and the monster mask swam before the darkness enveloped her.

Erik swore loudly as he watched his bride crumple to the ground. He carefully collected her from the floor and tucked her gently in the bed before ordering himself a bottle of brandy.

What a way to spend a wedding night! Drinking brandy alone as he watched his unconscious wife instead of making her his. Damn the mask! Damn Christine who claimed to love him, yet, the moment he came to her, she passed out at that thought of giving herself to such a monster.

* * *

"This is a beautiful house!" Christine exclaimed as she glanced around at stonework and marbled floor of the foyer. She grimaced when she noted the amount of work that needed to be done. "It needs a little work, but it is exceptionally lovely." 

She and Erik had just arrived in their new home after just over a week of travelling across the country. She had hoped that Erik would join her in the carriage as he had on their wedding day. But ever since their disastrous wedding night, Erik had taken to riding by the carriage and keeping as great a distance between them as possible.

Erik nodded abruptly. This was one of the properties his father had avoided; he had no childhood memories he would rather repress. "My brother agreed to give it to us as a wedding present."

"Really? We must send him a letter thanking him."

Erik forced a supportive smile. He would have to be careful not to frank said letter.

Benedict would simply laugh if he ever received a letter from Christine detailing the lie Erik had carefully created to protect his new wife. How could he tell Christine that her new brother-in-law had happily taken a large portion of her dowry? If possible, Erik wanted to guard her from his Benedict's cruelty.

"Let me introduce you to the staff. Drake, the butler. The housekeeper Mrs Carson; she is the one you will go to if you have any questions concerning your role as mistress."

Christine nodded as she tried to remember all the names of the servants. She was feeling incredibly overwhelmed and completely without the support of her husband. She wondered what happened to the gentleman she met at the house party and if there was a way to get him back.

The staff were still being introduced to Christine when Erik excused himself and locked himself away in the study with his correspondence – or book. She stared after his retreating back for a moment before returning her attention to the list of names.

* * *

Christine woke in the mornings to a maid bringing in a pot of chocolate for her to have in bed. She threw back the curtains and curtseyed out as Quintin entered and began to lay out Christine's clothes. 

"Would you like to wear the red or pink this morning, my lady?" Quintin asked held up two morning dresses.

"Pink." _Erik would like that_. "Is his lordship about yet?"

"Yes, ma'am. He is already out and about; riding across the estate seeing to the tenants."

Christine felt her temper rise when she heard that her husband had – yet again – gone about the estate without so much as 'good morning'. Though, why this should surprise her, she did not know. For the past three weeks, Erik had been doing precisely that. Christine was however surprised at Erik's willingness to be seen by the tenants when he was so anxious about his appearance. No doubt they knew better than to comment when their livelihood depended upon Lord Erik's support.

After his return at luncheon, Erik retired to the study with his solicitor or the steward with a seemingly endless pile of accounts and paperwork and a tray of food. She would not see him again until it was time to go into dinner. They dined at opposite ends of the table and spoke very little during the meal. Christine would slip away to the drawing room to read or play the piano and after an hour she would give up waiting for her husband to join her.

Since arriving in Cornwall, she had taken delight and comfort in spending his money in an attempt to refurbish the house and make it more liveable. The dull and dusty mats and curtains had been sent to a charity and gradually replaced with new fabrics. Walls had been repainted and repapered. The existing furniture had been polished until Christine could see her reflection.

She had ventured out into the garden one day and sobbed at the sight. The garden obviously was very well thought out by a brilliant designer, but in the recent years – obviously since Erik's grandparents had died – it became overgrown and neglected. She had never had a garden in London; there simply was not enough space. So, Christine quickly employed several gardeners and oversaw their progress on her garden.

It was the library which shocked Christine the most. There were piles of books all over the room – all in no apparent order. They were all covered in dust and not cared for as books should be.

Christine seemed to take the library as her personal quest. She would spend much of her time dusting and sorting the volumes of texts the previous marquesses and their families had amassed over the years.

Christine looked at her reflection in the glass and found Quintin studying her closely. She looked pale and drawn – not at all the way you should look in the morning. But the sleepless nights and busy days had been taking their toll on Christine.

"Quintin, would you see that a tray is brought up; I don't feel like going downstairs."

The maid nodded and slipped quietly out of the room. She and the other servants were well aware of the situation between Lord and Lady Erik. She did not know what had happened on their wedding night, but she knew that it was the cause of the rift between the couple.

Christine – Lady Erik – was a lovely girl. She deserved to be happy and to have a husband who took an interest in her.

After lunch when Christine's colour had picked up, she tucked herself away in the library with a book after sorting for several hours. From what she could pick up from servants' gossip, Erik's parents rarely came to this house. It was his grandmother who had a passion for romance books and gothic novels and she had fitted out the library with an impressive range.

Christine turned another page of her book. She had been reclining on the _chaise_ in for the last hour and was close to finishing her book. _Oh, poor dearest, Delia. _ How could her father tell her that the man she loved above all others – and who she believed loved her in return – cared for another woman? She quickly read the text and was forced to bite her finger to prevent herself from wailing out loud.

That was how the haughty butler found his mistress when he entered to inform her that Erik requested her presence. He took one look at her improper pose, and her shoes forgotten somewhere under the chair and raised an eyebrow.

Christine glared at the Drake's retreating back. The man was so stuffy that she did not doubt that he had never laughed in his life. If only she could think of a way to make him accept her and encourage a smile out of him once and a while.

"Good afternoon, Lord Erik," Christine greeted him stiffly.

She saw Erik looking down at her bare feet and muttered to herself. She forgot to put her shoes back on. That was just another thing she could not do right. She saw the frown mark his forehead.

All she wanted to do was rush around to his side of the desk and stroke the frown gently away. Then once that was gone, she would cover his forehead and then the entire left side of his face in kisses. Instead she contented herself by asking what he wanted.

"I realised that I have failed to give you any money. I have rectified the situation. Two thousand pounds a quarter will be sufficient, will it not?"

He dared her to contradict him.

"Two thousand will be fine, thank you."

"Good." Erik handed her an envelope with the money with a satisfied nod and returned his attention to his work.

Christine took the money and glared at his head. He thought he could just dismiss her like that! She did not want his money, she wanted him. She wanted the man she married back.

It seemed that Erik was determined to carry on his bachelor lifestyle and pretend his wife did not exist. Christine could no longer accept the arrangement. She could not stand by and watch her presence torture him every day. If he was not going to make the necessary changes, then she would.

Tomorrow she would leave for London. Alone.


	9. A Convenient Arrangement

**A Convenient Arrangement **

Christine stood in the foyer of her childhood home and untied the ribbons of her bonnet. She had just returned from spending the day at the school and wanted nothing more than to change before her mother returned home from her shopping. And perhaps a nice long hot bath…

Christine had been in London for two weeks and had been to numerous parties, balls and breakfasts. Being surrounded by her friends and handsome gentlemen eased the pain of her husband's apathy. It turned it from a stabbing pain to a dull ache that would never leave. _True pain_. At least in London she was able to keep busy.

It was when she was lying in bed in the wee hours of the morning that she realised just how much she missed her husband. There was something comforting knowing that Erik was in the next room. But with hundreds of miles distance between them, that small comfort and the hope that they would be able to mend their marriage was almost nonexistent.

"Has my mother returned?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Christine, I thought I heard you come in!" Mrs Daaé frowned at her daughter. "Where on earth have you been all day? None of the staff knew where you were. Dear, I know that now you are married, you are allowed a little more freedom, but you really should inform them and take a footman with you."

Christine silently cursed her mother's timing. It was true she had spent longer at the school than she had anticipated, but she had also expected her mother to take tea out.

"You're right, of course, mama. I suppose I just lost track of time; I spent the day reading in the library," she informed her mother with a smile, assuring herself that it was only a part untruth. She had spent most of the day reading letters and the children's work – and some of that was done in the library at the school. "I found the most fascinating book there." Christine paused. "I think I had best go upstairs and dress for tea."

She smiled sweetly at her mother before running up the stairs.

"What have you been doing, Christine?" Mrs Daaé asked later as she handed her a cup of tea. "You have been here for a fortnight and I have hardly seen you."

Christine offered her mother a shrug. "I have been very busy; I have had meetings to attend. I am in the process of redecorating the house at Cornwall, so I am always looking out for something that will suit. Why only yesterday I found the most attractive table that will go perfectly in the Chinese drawing room."

Maria stared at Christine for a few moments as she contemplated her response. It seemed that every waking moment Christine was rushing around to some meeting or a party and never allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection as she so often used to. She sighed and sipped her tea in silence.

* * *

Christine spent the following week just like the previous two – doing everything she could to forget about her husband. Most afternoons, Raoul would take her on a drive through Hyde Park at the Fashionable Hour. The handsome bachelor at her side did little to ease her sadness – or the gossip. It did not take long for the enjoyment Christine typically felt to fade. Christine had tried several times to play the pianoforte she had spent many hours at as a child, but in the end had surrendered. The memories of the short-lived joyful time with the attentive Erik at the Cotswolds were too fresh in her mind. 

Once a week, she would attend the literary meeting with the ladies who stayed in London for the Little Season. There were charity events. Balls and parties and dances in the evenings. Any free moment was spent wandering down the streets of London searching for furniture and dressings to send back to Cornwall or at the school supervising classes.

With the number of men who had failed to return from the war against Napoleon, there were a large number of children desperate for a home. Christine could not turn her back on them. Letters were exchanged between Christine, Daphne and their lawyer as they considered moving the school to a larger building.

Daphne and Ashlyn joined Christine in London for a few days as they assessed the two properties that Christine thought suitable.

"I was hoping we would carry out this transaction as we have all others," Christine commented with feigned calm as she glanced around at the room they decided to use as the meal hall. "The fact that I am now married does not need to change things."

Daphne stared at her friend. "You wish for the house to be in Ashlyn's name? I assume then that you have not discussed buying this house with your husband?"

She knew something was amiss with her friend – the dark circles gave away her anxieties that had caused her sleeplessness. Knowing her, Christine was throwing herself into her social life. Daphne had the distinct feeling that whatever she had seen between Lord Erik and her friend at the house party had vanished.

Christine forced a laugh. "Haven't _you_? I have the money to fund this venture, but not my husband's approval." Christine silently begged Erik to forgive her lie. She was certain she had his full support, but to achieve that – and for him to sign the contract – she needed him to come to London. She was not willing to risk that. "You on the other hand, have your husband's approval – but not the money." She paused. "Are you ready to see the lawyers?"

Daphne smiled nervously and nodded. Whatever was going on between the two was best kept that way. She did not want to get in the middle!

* * *

Following the signing of the contracts, Christine headed to the school to sit in on a few of the classes and to inform Mrs Otis of the new building for the growing school. As she expected, the headmistress was overjoyed at the news. 

"Oh, Lady Erik, you are a wonder!" the older woman cried, forgetting herself for a moment. She paused to collect herself, her hands folded primly in her lap. "The children will appreciate the extra space and a garden!"

Christine smiled weakly. She should be happy – she was happy – and yet she did not feel as generous as she normally would. Only a few months ago she had ordered lemon ices for the children as a special treat. The next day they had filled her ears with stories and excited chatter about their dessert. She could not help smiling for several hours. Surely buying the children a larger house should have delighted her more than buying them an ice?

No matter how much money she spent, she would never be happy. There was only one thing that would make her happy, and she could not buy that. Christine sighed sadly, tears burning her eyes.

"Lady Erik, is there anything I can do for you?" She had noticed the shine of tears in the younger woman's eyes.

"Thank you, no, Mrs Otis." In an attempt to redirect the conversation to safer and less personal areas, Christine began to quiz the headmistress about the children. "How is the new accounts teacher settling in?"

Mrs Otis smiled. "Miss Mills is working wonders in her classes; the girls are making very good progress. The students seem to admire her greatly."

Christine nodded her approval. "And how is Jenny coming along?"

"Jenny Black? She is now one of the best in her class."

Christine smiled when she heard that one of her favourite students was making such an improvement.

"I would very much like to meet Miss Mills. She sounds like a remarkable woman. Mr Compton has not come round to my way of thinking has he?" Christine asked, already knowing the response.

When she had approached the Latin teacher three weeks ago about teaching the girls the language he had simply laughed at her. It was outrageous even to suggest such a thing. The girls were already learning French; to expect them to learn such a difficult language was outside of enough!

"No, Lady Erik, he has not. Perhaps given time, he will adjust to the idea," Mrs Otis tried to sooth Christine. She too knew it was a losing battle.

Ten minutes later, Christine and Mrs Otis were sitting in on Miss Mills accounts class. Christine liked the way the woman did not disrupt her teaching to greet the guests. The only form of acknowledgment was a slight incline of her head. Miss Mills encouraged the girls to ask questions and explained at a level suitable for young children.

Miss Mills left the children to complete their task and joined Mrs Otis and Christine. After talking to the teacher for a few moments and praising her hard work, Christine began to move about the class.

"Miss Daaé! I mean Lady Erik," Jenny corrected herself contritely when Christine joined her at her desk.

"I hear you have been improving in your accounts class, Jenny," Christine said with a smile. "You should be very proud of yourself; I am very proud of you."

Jenny grinned.

"Why did you change your name? It is very difficult to remember to call you after a boy."

Christine offered the girl a sad smile. It had taken her a while to become accustomed to being called Lady Erik. "I have recently married and have taken my husband's name."

"His name is Lady Erik?"

"No, he is Lord Erik. His father was a marquess, and he is therefore given a curtsey title. Since I am his wife, I too have his curtsey title. I am known now as Lady Erik. It is very confusing and took me a time to adjust to my new name."

Jenny frowned as she tried to make sense of the peerage. "Is he handsome?"

Christine paused as she considered the girl's question. "I suppose you might call him handsome."

"Is he here with you in London?"

Christine shook her head and willed the tears not to fall. "No, he is at his estate in the country. He would not like London."

"Are you missing him, Lady Erik? Is that why you are so sad?" the girl asked innocently.

Christine looked at the girl in shock. _Yes,_ she wanted to scream. She missed her husband and found the distance between them almost too much to bear. It was all her fault. She had run away from the man she loved, and yet was too scared to return to him. The tears fell down her cheeks.

* * *

Drake entered the library to announce dinner. In the three weeks since Lady Erik had left Cornwall for London he had seen a very rapid decline in his employer. It was obvious that during their first month of marriage Lord and Lady Erik were trying to keep out of each other's way and not change their previously unmarried ways. But despite that awkwardness, Drake had seen a desire and love that the couple were trying to deny. He had only to look at Lord Erik to see the way his eyes would soften as he watched his wife, or the way his lips would turn up into a rare smile as she spoke. But now, the light that had once been there was fading to be replaced by the young brooding man that he vaguely remembered. 

Only last week while supervising a footman's work, Drake happened to hear Lord Erik's conversation with his steward. Jackson was informing Erik of the difficulties he had just encountered while trying to collect rent from several of the tenants.

"Sir, this is the third time in as many years that Gordon has not paid his rent! I have received no satisfaction talking to the man. I feel that perhaps it is best that you speak to him and see if you can reason with the man. I should hate to see him evicted from his home."

Jackson sighed impatiently when Erik did not respond. He watched Erik, noting the way he twirled his pen restlessly. In the short time Jackson had been acquainted with the new owner, Lord Erik had never given any indication of his feelings towards his steward or his role on the estate.

"Lord Erik?"

Erik quickly glanced at the steward, drawing his attention away from the neatly arranged shelves of books. He was well aware of the amount of time his wife had spent working in the room to restore it to its previous order. Like the rest of the house, she left her impression in the room which clearly was her favourite. Every change Christine had made to the house was a vast improvement that Erik found himself appreciating. Only yesterday an Aubusson rug arrived from London with instructions that it was to be placed in front of the fire of the library. Christine had a knack for knowing exactly what was required to make a room feel comfortable and homely.

"I will call on Mr Gordon presently and see if we can come to an arrangement. After that, I will oversee the harvesting."

For the past week, overseeing and assisting in the harvesting consumed every waking moment of Lord Erik's day. At dawn Erik would wake, and after a quick breakfast he would work with the farmers in their fields until sunset. The physical labour was no different to what Erik was accustomed to during his life as a Rifleman. In fact he found the work a welcome relief. Following a bath and dinner, Erik would retire to the study and work until as late as ten o'clock.

"Lord Erik, dinner is served," Drake announced.

His lordship glanced up at the butler, his eyes slightly unfocussed before returning his attention back to the decanter of brandy.

At first he could not approve of a Heaton – one of the wealthiest families in England – marrying a merchant's daughter. However during the short time he had to become acquainted with the Lady Erik, he was reluctant to admit he liked what he saw. He liked what she did to her husband. The results would be much more obvious if they were talking.

"Have you had any news from her ladyship, sir?" Drake asked gently prying.

He was risking his job by his plans to interfere in Lord Erik's personal life. Hell, he was not supposed to know anything of Lord Erik's relationship – or lack thereof – with his wife! Drake smiled mentally; a butler must put his employer's needs before his own. Was that not what he was doing?

"No – you damned well know that, Drake!" Erik snapped.

Drake paused as he weighed up his next words. "It is typical to hold the fete in October, sir. It has been some time since we have held one here at Heaton Mansion. It would be an opportunity for both yourself and her ladyship to become better acquainted with the tenants."

Erik looked up at the butler for a moment before returning his attention back to his drink. He sat there staring into the amber liquid as he considered his words. It would be an opportunity to get Christine back from the capital – and to meet his tenants. He could ask her to come home without _asking_ her to come home.

"Dinner is served, my lord," Drake announced again as he quit the room.

He smiled when he saw the calculating gleam in Erik's eyes.


	10. To London, to London Part I

**The Phantom of the Regency**

A/N: I've had a bit of trouble loading this chapter, so I'll be posting it in two parts. Thank you all for your reviews, and a very special thank you to my beta for her Latin translation. Enjoy this extra long chapter!

* * *

**To London, to London - Part I  
**

Christine returned from the dinner room with Raoul to feel a set of eyes on her. She swallowed nervously at the unseen observer who was willing her to look at him or her and asked Raoul to fetch another glass of champagne. Perhaps she was just being overly anxious and little drink would calm her nerves.

She giggled as another glass of bubbles went straight to her head. She was certainly feeling more relaxed now. The feeling of being watched was not quite so overwhelming.

"Lady Erik, I think you have had enough to drink," Raoul said carefully as he tried to remove the glass from her hand.

"No, Raouly. I am not drunk; I'm happy." She slapped him playfully and with a little more force than was accepted with her fan. "Do you know how long it has been since I was happy?"

Raoul was saved the necessity of responding when the orchestra began to play a waltz.

"Ooh! I love the waltz, come and dance with me, Raoul!"

"No, my lady; you cannot. Let me take you out on to the terrace for some air."

Christine giggled and allowed Raoul to take her outside into the cool night air. "Some air?"

Erik was furious. He had entered the ballroom, hoping to walk in, collect his wife and return home. However his hopes were quickly dashed when the host's butler announced _Lord Erik Heaton_ in a loud, clear voice which reached the far side of the room. As one, the guests looked up to see the masked lord for the first time in London society.

Erik uncomfortably wandered through the press of people, searching for Christine. When he saw her on the arm of the little French aristocrat, he was overcome by a wave of violent jealousy. He wanted to pull Christine from his arm and put a bullet through the man.

She was acting like a Cyprian the way she was giggling and standing far too close to the Vicomte. When he got her into the carriage he would – He saw the champagne flute in her hand. She was drunk! That bloody useless boy. He could not even prevent a woman from drinking too much.

A dowager with a red turban and matching plume moved out of the way and for the first time in a month, Christine saw her husband.

"Lady Erik," Erik greeted Christine stiffly when he finally joined the couple. He held his arm out to Christine with a dark look; she had no choice but to take it. She shook her head, but wisely held her tongue.

"Dear, it is late; come, we'll go home. Christine, you are overtired."

At the Frog's encouraging nod, Christine reluctantly stepped away and took her husband's arm. She allowed Erik to steer her to the carriage on unsteady feet and assist her into the vehicle, all the while watching the little peer head to the card room. Erik had expected her to giggle the entire way home but found that within minutes she was dozing against the squabs.

Erik scooped her in his arms and carried her up the front stairs of her mother's townhouse. He was thankful it was one in the morning and not one in the afternoon. They would be the talk of the gossipmongers if anyone saw the masked man carrying his drunken wife up the stairs to her townhouse.

The butler held the door open for them, his face properly impassive.

"Where is Lady Erik's bedroom?"

"Up-up stairs - it is the second room on the right, sir."

Erik was striding up the stairs and was at the landing when he paused. "Tell her ladyship's maid to come and dress her for bed."

He had learnt that keeping Christine at a distance was not wise for either of them. Because he was so determined to keep her away from him, he had lost his wife. He did not think she would appreciate discovering that he had undressed her. No, best leave that for the maid and in the morning, he would begin to court his wife.

* * *

Christine woke the next morning and groaned when she heard Quintin and the maid come in. 

"Eat your toast," Quintin ordered as she fluffed the pillows around Christine. "You will feel better when you have something in your stomach. His lordship is breakfasting this very moment downstairs." She crossed to the dressing room and pulled out a yellow and a blue morning dress for Christine to assess. "Which one this morning, ma'am?"

Christine moaned again. "Just pick one that will make me look as though I was not run over by a horse last night!"

Quintin chuckled to herself as she pulled out a pink dress. His lordship liked seeing his bride in pink. It would put some colour in her cheeks.

A while and a bit of rouge later, Christine made her way down to the breakfast room. She had learnt her lesson never to drink so much. She hoped she would be able to face her husband without going bright red with shame.

When she entered, Erik stood and smiled warmly at her. He quickly crossed to the door and assisted her into her chair then arranged a plate for her. He was going to take her to task for drinking so much, but when he saw the disgrace in her eyes, he decided against it. She would punish herself more than he ever could.

Christine and Erik had a quiet breakfast while Mrs Daaé was sleeping peacefully above stairs. Christine placed her cutlery neatly in the middle of her plate and pushed her chair away from the table. She smiled stiffly at her husband as he also stood. She was walking briskly to the door, when Erik stayed her.

"Where are you going?"

"I am going out; I have a meeting which I cannot break." She turned away from him and stomped upstairs to collect her bonnet and gloves. She was piqued that her husband had not asked to join her. If he had asked, she would have said 'no'. If he had told her his reasons for coming to London or if he told her that he loved her or missed her, then perhaps her response would have been different.

Christine reached the bottom of the stairs and waited for the carriage to be brought round. Erik was standing across the foyer – in the doorway to the breakfast room – watching his wife. He had spent over a sennight travelling after his wife who for some reason had tucked herself away in the middle of the city. He wondered if she knew what it took him to go to that crush of a ball last night in search of her. There was only one reason why he had done it.

The butler opened the front door, and Christine started forward, expecting the carriage to be waiting at the front of the house. The butler announced Lord de Chagny. Christine offered him a smile that did not make her eyes glow. Erik glared at the green boy.

"Lady Erik! I am pleased to see you looking so well this morning!" Raoul greeted Christine brightly as he handed the butler his hat and gloves. "I was afraid you'd feel a little under the weather."

"Lord de Chagny, how fortunate you have arrived. I was hoping you would not forget that you have promised to escort me to Bond Street," Christine said airily.

She had no intention of going shopping this morning, but now that she had spoken in anger she was forced to make a stop and purchase a new bonnet or something equally unnecessary and frivolous. Not that a lady could never have too many hats, she thought with a smile. Annoyed at herself and her attempt to show her husband how little his presence in London bothered her, she was forced to rearrange her day and visit the school in the afternoon.

The butler – from his unobtrusive position by the door – surveyed the scene with interest. He had been trying to calm the talk below stairs about Miss Daaé – now Lady Erik, he corrected himself – and her peculiar relationship with her husband. Her decision to return to London after only a month of marriage was not lost on any of the staff.

He glanced at Lady Erik who was looking uncertainly at her masked husband and then with a false smile she often used on uninvited guests at the young Frenchman. Lord Erik was watching his wife carefully – refusing to give the annoying boy a moment of his time. Then there was the young Frenchman who was standing just in the doorway looking at the lady intently in a way much like a puppy looks at his owner.

Raoul smiled charmingly as he offered Lady Erik his arm. Christine was very aware of Erik silently bristling from the opposite side of the room as she stepped over to her escort.

She turned and bade farewell to her husband, promising to be home in time for tea.

* * *

Christine secured her earring and glanced at her mirror to assess her reflection. Tonight, for the second night after Erik's return, she was planing to attend a ball in Raoul's company. 

She had returned from shopping and her visit to the school to find Quintin packing her trunks. When questioned, she told her mistress that his lordship had decided that they would be relocating to a hotel within London. Erik had arranged two rooms for the duration of his stay in the city.

"He did not say why he wished it, ma'am," Quintin informed her softly as she continued to fold dresses.

Christine sniffed as she sank down onto her stool and toed off her shoes. "He probably plans to make it difficult for Raoul to find me. He is such a possessive man!"

If keeping his wife from her lover entered Erik's mind it was one of several reasons he had decided to leave the Mayfair house. He was not staying in a different building to his wife; but nor would he stay with his mother-in-law. He still had not forgiven her for the dressing down she gave him after she caught him alone with Christine.

Erik stood behind his wife, glaring down at her in frustration when he saw she was dressed to go out. It seemed obvious to him, that if he journeyed to London he would have a reason – such as not being able to think of anything but her. However, despite her intelligence, it seemed that Christine lacked logic.

In his room next to hers, Erik had planned to beg her to come home to Cornwall and be his wife. He wanted what they shared for those two idyllic weeks. What was verbalised however was very different.

"I assume that that dolt is escorting you to whatever soirée you are attending?" Christine nodded. "Make sure you do not drink too much champagne; I have no desire to read in the paper that my wife is behaving as a bird of paradise."

Christine flushed dark red at his insulting words but said nothing. She rose from her stool and looked at him. She wanted to scream at him for keeping her away from him. She wanted that easy friendship they had discovered during the house party.

She opened her mouth her mouth to confess everything – and to tell him that she loved him – when a rap on the door stopped her.

"Raoul must be here. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow. Good night." She left the room with a swish of her silk skirts and missed the pained look that twisted half of Erik's face.

* * *

Christine entered the private parlour for luncheon with her husband and placed her reticule, her bonnet and a small leather bound book on the table by her side. Erik said nothing to her during the meal. She would often find him looking at her in a way that made her heart stop and her breathing become shallow. Then she would find him looking at her small pile of belongings as though they had offended him somehow. 

He had heard of couples arranging assignations in the most unusual and innocent of places. Perhaps de Chagny had convinced her to join him in the lending library and she was pretending to return a book to add to the charade.

When Christine stood up and prepared to leave, Erik could not hold back the angry question as to her plans.

"I am going to my literary group meeting."

Erik looked ashamedly at his wife. His imaginings of her carrying on in public were for naught – she was going to her book meeting. He knew how much she enjoyed it and knew she would not be using it as an excuse. Christine was not capable of such duplicity.

"May I join you?" he asked, swallowing his pride. "I should like to meet the ladies you speak so highly of."

Christine looked at him thoughtfully as if she suspected he had another motivation. "Have you read Shakespeare's sonnets?"

Erik grinned and nodded. "All one hundred and fifty-four… several times."

Christine smiled shyly as she took the arm he offered. In addition to drawing and singing, her husband was evidently an admirer of the Bard. The meeting would definitely be interesting with the ladies and the only man – her husband.

The literary meeting went far better than both Erik and Christine had hoped. There, Christine encountered Lady Poppy and the two fell into lively a conversation. It was typical of the ladies to arrive upwards of thirty minutes early to gossip and chat before the meeting officially started.

"What are you doing here in London?" Christine demanded as she pulled Poppy over into a quiet corner of the room.

"My father had to come to town on business so I pleaded for him to allow me to join him. Mrs Walter wrote a letter of introduction to Mrs Charlemagne and asked that I be allowed to join the meeting while I was in town. I am very excited about the meeting; I did not sleep much last night.

"I am so relieved I met some of the ladies while in the country; I would have hated to know no one at my first meeting!" Poppy paused as she flicked a quick glance between Erik and Christine.

She had noticed the way that Erik kept a very proprietorial – or possessive – hand on the small of his wife's back as he spoke to Mrs Charlemagne. She leant into Christine and whispered, "I am very pleased that you and Lord Erik had resolved your differences."

Christine frowned in confusion.

"I could not help but notice the way you both watched each other at Daphne's ball. You both seemed very reluctant to approach the other. I assume that whatever the problem was has now been fixed."

Christine blinked. She was not aware that she had been so obvious as she watched Erik that night. She sought about for something to say to change the subject. Erik shifted at her side and Christine belatedly remembered her manners and introduced her friend to her husband.

"I'm sorry I was not able to make your acquaintance at Mrs Walter's ball. I would like to congratulate you both on your marriage," Poppy said with a becoming blush.

The meeting began and the hour passed quickly and pleasantly for both Erik and Poppy. Mrs Charlemagne was more than attentive to Lord Erik and his interest in his wife's activities. At the end of the meeting, she had made them both promise to call on her the very next day. She was eager to know Christine's husband better.

* * *

The next morning Christine tentatively knocked on Erik's door and waited for him to allow her to enter. She pushed open the door and saw him perusing her copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. She wondered what had happened to her book; now she knew. 

"I have to go out. You're welcome to come with me," she offered in a nervous rush. "I have just sent for the carriage; I will be waiting in the parlour until it is prepared. I'm sure my children would like to meet you." Her eyes twinkled brilliantly as she added her saucy comment.

Christine opened the door and left Erik's room. The last thing she saw as she descended the stairs was Erik's confused expression. She settled herself in the parlour a moment later waiting for her carriage… and her husband.

The door opened and Erik entered looking very dashing as usual. Christine sighed. She had not realised how much she enjoyed seeing him casually dressed until she had seen him dressed for the city. She loved the way his informal clothes softened his face. He seemed to be so at ease in the country dressed in his buckskin breeches. She missed that Erik.

"You look lovely, my lady," Erik greeted her when he joined her on the settee and raised her hand to his lips.

She watched entranced as his lips lightly brushed her gloved hand. "Thank you, my lord," she replied shyly. She could still feel his lips on the back of her hand, and the thrills spreading through her body.

His pale eyes held Christine's until she felt herself drown in them. She shifted closer to him on the seat and continued to gaze at him. She moistened her lips and her eyes drifted shut for a moment in a silent invitation to kiss her.

The sound of a knock on the door destroyed the magical spell that had them under its control.

"Sir, ma'am, your carriage be waiting."

Christine felt like stomping her feet at the maid's untimely interruption. She was certain Erik was about to kiss her – it would be her first kiss! The little peck on the corner of her mouth he gave her at their wedding could not be considered at kiss. Nor could those few stolen kisses during the course of her Seasons. Erik seemed to be taking an interest in her for the first time since they were married. Yes, things had improved considerably since she left Cornwall and she did not want anyone to get in the way.

She loved her husband, and had done so since the very first week of Daphne's house party. That was why she left him; because she could not bear him treating her so coldly when she loved him so dearly.

Christine knew his fear of going about in Society with his mask and what it cost Erik to come to London. She smiled as she recalled being carried up to her chamber in Erik's arms a few nights ago. She was certain that Erik loved her.

Christine nodded her head as she grasped Erik's hand and pulled him out the door. She winked at the footman as he bowed to her. In an instant, Christine and Erik were in the carriage and on their way out of St. James'.


	11. To London, to London Part II

**To London, to London – Part II  
**

The waiter placed the two ices on the table of Gunter's Tea Shop in front of Lord and Lady Erik. He glanced nervously at Erik's mask before quickly rushing away with a weak smile.

"I should not have come here," Erik said softly.

He wanted his wife to have a normal life. That would not be possible if he was at her side; everyone would be pausing to look at him for a second time because of the mask.

"Nonsense, Erik," Christine chided him brightly. "Everyone needs to try a Gunter's ice at least once in their life. His ices are very well known here in London – especially during the Season!"

Perhaps stopping for an ice on the way home from the school was not such a clever idea on Christine's behalf. There were a large number of young debutantes and their escorts loitering around the shop and across the road in the park. Although they all appeared deep in their conversation, they were often shooting intrigued and disgusted glances at Erik.

"You and Mrs Walter have put an impressive effort into your school, Christine," Erik said, changing the subject. He was amazed and proud of his young wife and all that she had achieved with the help of her friend. Thanks to Christine's generous heart, many of England's orphaned children had the opportunity for a promising adulthood.

When they walked up the steps to the school, Erik could not help but be uncertain as to the type of character Christine was going to meet. She had said something about her children. He tried to ignore the grip of jealousy at the thought of Christine having another's children. The exterior of the foreboding building in the middle of The City looked unkempt.

"Miss Daaé! Your pardon ma'am, Lady Erik," the housekeeper greeted Christine warmly as she glided into the school, Erik a step behind.

"Good morning, Mrs Gibson. How are things running? Did the chimneysweeps come?"

"Oh" – Mrs Gibson glanced at Erik, nervously – "Things are well ma'am, and yes, the sweeps came yesterday. There was a slight problem with- Never mind, ma'am, Mrs Otis will tell you about it."

Christine nodded. She could easily imagine what the headmistress was going to say; some of the younger children had a love of getting into mischief and believed the life of a sweep would be much more exciting than sitting in lessons.

"Erik, dear, this is Mrs Gibson. Mrs Gibson, my husband Lord Erik Heaton. He has just arrived in London and plans to spend a few days here before we return to Cornwall."

Erik looked at the woman with a critical eye. She appeared very competent. Not a hair was out of place; that boded well for a housekeeper's abilities. He next turned his gaze to the surroundings. The table by the door and the simple mirror hanging above it appeared clean and dust free. It seemed as if Mrs Gibson was good at her work.

"I will inform the headmistress you are here and leave you to check on your children." She bobbed a curtsey to the couple before heading down a corridor.

"What did she mean 'your children'?" Erik asked in a harsh whisper as he followed Christine up the stairs.

"The children are like my own. I have known many of them for years and they have a special place in my heart. When Daphne and I opened the school two years ago we quickly grew attached to the children." She smiled cheekily up at her husband. "They particularly like it when you give them boiled lollies and cakes."

They stepped into a classroom and observed the lesson. There were fifteen or so boys sitting at desks learning Latin grammar. When the tutor made a joke in Latin, a few of the boys laughed – along with Erik and Christine. Erik could not help but be amazed at his wife and the students' skills in the foreign language.

"Lady Erik!" a young boy exclaimed when he saw her standing unobtrusively by the door. He had obviously heard her light laugh. He quickly surged to his feet and soon the other boys were joining him.

"Good morning, gentlemen." She treated the room to a bright smile. "_Pueri, hic meus maritus est, dominus Erik Heaton_." She paused and looked expectantly at the boys. "Translation please!"

Erik bowed to the class and waited for someone to translate Christine's statement. He smiled proudly at his wife's multilingualism. Very few English women could speak Latin so fluently. Eventually one of the older boys tentatively raised his hand. Christine applauded him when he translated the introduction into English correctly.

"Excellent, Richard! Boys, you have improved considerably in your lessons; you should all be very proud of yourselves. I will leave your bag of lollies with Mr Compton. If he has no objection and believes you deserving enough, he will give them to you at the end of your lesson."

She smiled and winked at the boys before leaving to room to survey the other lessons.

Erik sighed as he took another spoonful of his pistachio ice. He had been married to his beautiful wife for two months and was only now discovering things about her. He had wasted the first months of their marriage holding a grudge and keeping her from his side.

He looked around Gunter's and the numerous people who all looked normal and carried on their normal lives. How he wished that he could live as they did! A red-haired gentleman – who Erik hoped never to see again – caught his attention. It was the honourable Sebastian Anthon, the bully who had tormented him as a young boy at Eton.

Erik stopped breathing for a moment, and then began to breathe faster. His palms began to sweat. He reached across for Christine's hand and began to pull her out of the tea shop.

"Well, well, Erik Heaton, I never expected to see you again," Anthon drawled as he spied the couple trying to escape.

Erik turned to glare at the man three years his senior. "Anthon. I hoped never to see you again."

Christine gasped at her husband's animosity. She was vaguely aware of Sebastian Anthon's reputation with the ladies. The peer was something of a rake – and a seducer! Only last year, rumour had it that he had been caught in a compromising situation with a debutante and refused to marry her. The poor girl was ruined and forced to flee to the country. Any hopes she may have entertained in regard to making a good match were lost. The only reason the man was not excluded from Society was because of his fortune of several million pounds.

The two women with him cried in horror at the sight of Erik's mask. They groped their reticules and searched for the salts.

"Won't you introduce me to this charming lady?" Anthon looked Christine up and down.

Erik gnashed his teeth together. "No." Erik turned on his heel and pulled Christine into the carriage. "We are expected elsewhere."

Thank heavens Mrs Charlemagne had insisted they call on her that afternoon!

They had gone less than a block when Christine was no longer able to hold back her shock at Erik's outrageous behaviour. "That was abominably rude, Erik. In the morning it will be known that you snubbed the Viscount Aberdeen!"

"Cutting him is the least I could do," he hissed under his breath.

"I do hope you had good reason."

Erik pointed to a scar at the corner of his lips. "Is this reason enough? Anthon made my time at school hellish. I was ten, the younger son of a peer and was subject to Anthon and his friends' thrashings and torment. I had no one other than my tutor to turn for help. He was little help!"

Christine blinked away the tears; Erik would not want her pity. She clutched his hands. "Why?"

"I was the best in all my classes and came from one of the wealthiest and most powerful aristocratic families in England. I covered my face with a mask." Erik sighed. He sat in silence for a few minutes as he debated with himself how much of his time at school he should tell her. "My mask fell off one night as I slept; Anthon saw."

"What happened next?"

"He hid my mask from me. He would not let me have it until that night. I had to spend an entire day of classes without it." He could not tell her how his tutors had beaten him and the other children had cursed and kicked him. The one boy who seemed to overlook Erik's mask turned against him. "I never slept deeply again."

* * *

The couple had just finished dinner again in the private parlour, where they had for the first time discussed anything and everything. It was as if they were back at the Walters' house party and had just met. The past two months had never happened. 

"I have been meaning to tell you, sir," Christine began as she folded her hands primly in her lap in an effort to control her excitement, "the Vicomte has recently won Lord Caine's estate in Tavistock in a game of cards! Why, he will be our neighbour!"

Erik scowled at the thought of living so close to the man who clearly had intentions towards his wife. He did not doubt the man would take advantage of the short distance. It would be much better for everyone involved if he stayed in the Cotswolds rather than moving to Devon.

"It is rather disappointing that Ash and Daphne live such a distance. Mayhap we should invite them to join us for a few weeks; I should appreciate Daph's company," Christine said with a sigh.

"Speaking of Mrs Walter, why did you not tell me that you and the lady ran a school?"

Christine played with the folds of her skirt as she considered her response. "I do not know. I suppose I was uncertain of your reaction or what you would think of my behaviour or use of money."

She looked away; she did not want him to see the tears that glistened in her eyes. But Erik's fingers gently closed around her chin and forced her to look into his eyes.

"I think what you are doing is admirable, Christine. Anyone can see how much that school and the children mean to you. Because of you, they have hopes for a future. As for how you spend your money, as long as you want for nothing I do not mind how you spend it; it is yours."

She wanted to sob at the pride that lit his eyes. Her father had never looked at her in such a way.

"Not everyone is as understanding as you are, Erik." She smiled sadly at him. "There are some who believe that a good sponsor only gives money and not time or support. It is not considered appropriate for a young, unmarried and sensitive woman to be aware of such a bleak world. Only a few people know of my involvement in the school: Mrs Charlemagne, Drusilla and Ashlyn."

"Your mother does not know?"

"Heavens, no!" Christine replied, horrified. "Mama would have a fit if she found out! She and Papa shared the belief that if one refused to help themselves out of their predicament, then they deserved to stay there."

Tears stung Christine's eyes as she shared her secret charity with her husband. She was afraid that he would react the way she imagined her mother would. Tantrums, yelling, objects being thrown across the room. But she was delightfully surprised by his calm acceptance – even pride – of her school. She should have known Erik would not react in such a way.

"What about you, sir, do you have any secrets that I should know about?" she asked with a teasing grin on her elfish face.

"Indeed I do; I have a weakness for cucumber sandwiches," Erik responded in kind to her teasing. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but could not bring himself to say the words. That was one secret he did not think he could ever share.

Christine laughed. She could easily imagine her masked husband hording a plate of sandwiches as the guests looked on longingly.

"I have another: the reason I came to London looking for you."

"And what is that?" she prompted, wondering if he was going to tell her he loved her and could not live without her. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

"I would like you to come back to Heaton Mansion to arrange the fete for all the tenants of the estate. It cannot be accomplished without Lady Erik."

Christine glanced away from Erik in an attempt to hide her tears. She could not let him know how much his request for her to serve as his hostess disappointed her. She should be revelling in the opportunity to meet her neighbours and show Erik her organising abilities.

She forced a bright smile. "Of course I shall return to Cornwall - the day after tomorrow."

* * *

The Vicomte de Chagny was in a feral mood. He had arrived at the hotel where Christine had been staying to escort Lady Erik to a charity luncheon only to find that she and her husband had already left. She had decided to forgo his company! 

Determined to still be her escort – despite the fact that her husband was now in London – Raoul directed his coachman to Lady Essendon's home in Kensington. There, as he expected he found Lady Erik, chatting animatedly with several ladies and a gentleman.

"Lady Erik, Ladies Lily and Kate, Mrs Worthington," Raoul greeted the ladies with a bow. His greeting to the only man in the group was cut short when he saw Lord Erik's masked face. "Lord Erik."

Erik inclined his head. He would not greet this idiot with anything more than minimal civility.

"Lady Erik, I was under the impression that I would have the honour of your presence this afternoon."

Christine felt her temper rise at Raoul's comment. "Lord de Chagny, I thought you understood that you were only standing in for my husband while he was seeing to things at Cornwall? I assumed after the other night that you knew Erik was in Town." She conveniently forgot that until a few days ago, even with her husband in London, he had been acting as her escort.

The Ladies Lily and Kate shared a secret smile and quietly left the husband, wife and jealous lover. Mrs Worthington also quickly left not wanting to find herself in the middle of the confrontation that was brewing.

"Oh, well, that is…" Raoul mumbled. He took a breath and fought for his control. "Then I suppose I will not be required to escort you to Mrs Risdon's ball tonight?"

"No, indeed not," Lord Erik answered for his lady. "In fact, I have been meaning to have a word with you about your care of my wife, de Chagny. I find it incomprehensible that you allowed _my wife_ to become inebriated while she was under your care!"

"Now, see here, Heaton!"

Raoul squeaked as Erik gripped the man by his throat, crushing the ostentatious cravat in his fingers. How easy it would be to strangle this man. It was not like he did not deserve it when you considered the way he cared – or had not cared – for Christine.

"Erik!"

"If you ever do anything to cause harm to my wife or my family, I swear, I will call you out." Erik paused as he watched the younger man pale. He tightened his grip for a moment to emphasise his point before finally loosening it. "And for your information, I am more than competent at pistols and swords."

"My apologies if I have offended you in any way, Lord Erik, Lady Erik." Raoul said between coughs. He rubbed the spot Erik had gripped. He made to move away when Erik stopped him. He looked nervously over his shoulder.

"Stay the hell away from my wife."

"Of course, sir. Good day, Lady Erik."

Christine smiled sympathetically as she watched the man all but run away from her husband. She had never realised how intimidating he could be – particularly when he wore his mask.

Christine frowned at him as she accepted his arm. "Was that really necessary?"

Erik looked coolly down into Christine's face. "Yes. And before you ask, I _will_ call him out if he does anything to offend. I do not say anything I do not mean."

Christine shrank away slightly from her husband and the anger that seemed to radiate from his body. She noticed a subtle warning aimed at her in that statement. She allowed him to steer her over to the buffet table and pour her a glass of lemonade.

"Thank you for coming to Lady Essendon's with me, Erik. I am glad you approve of my interest in the charities."

"You do not need to thank me, Christine; I would do anything to be with you."

Christine felt a blush colour her face as she bit into her lip. Here was the charming man she remembered. She was not certain what happened to him, but she was glad he was returned to her. She drew her breath to respond in kind but was stopped by a deep drawl.

"Lord Erik, twice in two days; this truly must be a new record for unexpected – and unpleasant – surprises."

"What the hell do you want, Anthon?"

The viscount shook his head. "It is Lord Aberdeen, Erik. I would like to meet this charming lady. She was in your company yesterday, I believe. Indeed, who could forget such lovely turquoise eyes?"

He raised a hand to caress Christine's cheek. Christine batted the hand away at the same time Erik took a step forward to loom over the bully.

Reluctantly, _very_ reluctantly, Erik introduced his wife to the Viscount Aberdeen.

What a pity she could not offer him her hand to bow over as would be polite, Christine thought with a wicked smile. Erik was making certain she could not pull her hand out of his grip. She knew of her husband's dislike of the man and was more than willing to follow his lead.

"My husband has told me all about you, sir," she said in her best imitation of her mother dealing with a misbehaving servant. "He said you shared a room at Eton."

The man's smile slipped a notch as he looked at the small woman standing before him. He assumed that she would be a typical little deb and typically insipid. That she would fight back and defend her husband – her hideous husband – was a shock.

"I'm sure your husband exaggerated, Lady Erik," he said with an awkward laugh.

Christine raised a sardonic brow. "_Oh?_ No, I do not think so; my husband speaks nothing but the absolute truth."

Aberdeen glared coldly at the little upstart standing on the protective arm of Lord Erik.

"In fact, he told me how you would bully him as a young boy," she continued angrily before he could get a word in. "Only a true coward would pick in someone younger than himself."

Aberdeen was at a loss. He had never been reduced to speechlessness! Pity a gentleman couldn't call a lady out. This one certainly deserved it! He looked at Erik as if to demand that the man pull his wife into line. Erik did glance at his wife, his face giving none of his feelings away. Christine merely tilted her head in response, her eyes shining with anger.

"You are nothing but a cit's daughter who bought her way into the peerage." Aberdeen stood over Christine, prepared to intimidate the woman who only came to his shoulder.

Christine went to lunge for the arrogant, rude, terrorising man, but Erik held her waist firmly. She struggled in his grip for a moment before surrendering. She had to content herself with throwing barbs at him rather than fists.

A small crowd of invited guests had gathered around to observe the Heatons and Aberdeen. When they saw Lord Erik restrain his wife – who looked as though she would dearly like to throttle the other man – an oppressive silence fell.

Erik opened his mouth to issue the man a scathing set-down for insulting his wife when he was interrupted by a furious Christine. "From what I have heard, you are nothing but a useless seducer." Christine looked him up and down loftily. "You still seem like a bully you clearly were when you were a boy."

Aberdeen's glare became even colder. Christine had touched a raw nerve when she called him a seducer and a bully. Damn Lady Stubbington and her gossiping cronies. All he did was kiss the silly debutante. The girl had enjoyed the kiss as much as he had!

He glanced at Erik who had been very quiet during the entire exchange – just as he had done in Eton. As a boy, Erik had not stood up for himself. He was no different now. The only difference was that he had a _wife_ to defend him. His face was flushed red, contrasting unattractively with his white mask. Aberdeen shuddered as he imagined the ruined skin hidden beneath the mask.

"Perhaps Lord Erik bought you. Lord knows with the face his mask is hiding that would be the only way he would get a wife. I have seen it and all of its hideousness – I still have nightmares!

"Although, considering the trouble you have caused in one afternoon, I would demand considerable compensation to be shackled to you for the rest of my life! You seem to have no idea how to go on in Society…but what should we expect from a cit?"

"You may insult me all you like, Aberdeen," Erik hissed. "But do not think I will allow you to insult my wife; you insult her, you insult me."

"Erik, do _not_!" Christine twisted in his grip to frown at him. She did not know her husband well enough to know what he was thinking, yet she was well aware of the male pride. "You cannot call him out."

Erik glared angrily at his wife. By demanding that he not call Aberdeen out – as he fully intended to do – she had placed him in a difficult position. Both his own and Christine's honour was at stake here. _Did she not understand that?_ If he did not defend her against Aberdeen's accusations he was as good as admitting that she had bought herself a husband and she was inferior. If he did not defend his own honour, he was ruined and would never be able to regain his reputation, his pride, his standing.

They would both be ruined.

What would Christine do if he did call Aberdeen out? Would she leave him again? Would she weep if he was injured?

"Are you now taking orders from a female, Heaton? I can see you are hiding behind your _lady's_ skirts just as you hid behind our tutor when you were too weak to defend yourself."

Furious that Aberdeen was continuing a twenty year old feud, Christine acted on instinct. She knew she would not be able to free herself from her husband's arm. Instead, she raised her glass of lemonade and threw it into his face. That surely was an acceptable reaction for an offended lady.

Erik's reaction however, was not acceptable anywhere other than Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Club. Thankful for his wife's distractions, he raised his right arm and hooked Aberdeen square in the jaw. A crunch sounded and Aberdeen clutched the left side of his face.

A wave approval swept through the onlookers as Aberdeen slunk away to his carriage.

"You should not have done that," Christine murmured a minute later as she wrapped Erik's handkerchief around his hand.

"I know."

Christine smiled cheekily. "It sounded very painful; I have no doubt he will be surviving on broth for the next few weeks. Do you feel better?"

Erik returned her smile with a crooked one of his own. "Yes, I do. It's pleasant to get my own back after all these years."

Christine raised his hand to her lips a placed a quick kiss on his knuckles. "It is just as well we were planning to leave London in the morning," Christine said with a sigh as she and Erik began to circulate amongst the guests – who were all very busy relating – and embellishing – the tale of Lords Erik and Aberdeen. "There will be several reports of your escapades in the paper tomorrow morning."

Erik paled at the thought of such bad press.

"No one is anyone in London if you have not had your name in the paper at _least_ once." She smiled brilliantly and dipped a teasing curtsey. "Welcome to the _ton_!"


	12. Milady in Love

**Milady in Love**

A small pile of letters was waiting Lord Erik's return from London on the silver tray in the entrance.

Drake immediately handed the letters to Erik while her ladyship went upstairs to change her dress. Erik accepted the correspondence and shut himself in his study.

The three weeks away had done him a world of good. His relationship with his wife seemed to have improved considerably during their time in London. He and Christine had talked during much of the journey and several times Christine fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and her hand clutching his lapel. He smiled as he recalled those moments together. They were just like an old married couple.

Erik immediately broke the seal of a letter from an unknown hand. He sucked in his breath when he saw Ashlyn's man of business' name at the bottom of the page. It seemed his wife had agreed to pay the Walters eleven thousand pounds. He could not begin to imagine the reason behind such a large amount of money.

The next letter he opened cast more light onto the situation. Thank heavens he had such a loyal friend in Ashlyn Walter. The man signed a contract to buy a house in town while Erik's wife promised to pay for it out of his money.

He wanted to shake her and demand to know why she did not write to him and ask his permission. He would have gladly paid for anything she asked for. Was it not his own fault in a way? He had told her that she was to buy anything she needed and send him the bill! Hell, she had purchased enough furniture recently that he would be paying her bills for a while. He assumed he did not need to specify he was referring to clothing or other necessities.

He rose and tugged the bell pull. A moment later, Drake appeared in the doorway and was given instructions to send Lady Erik to join him at her earliest convenience.

Christine nervously brushed her skirts as she descended the stairs. Five minutes ago a maid had delivered a message to her in her bedchamber. When she asked the maid whether Drake indicated if his lordship was angry, the girl shrugged. Christine sighed; she was going into the room unprepared.

"Close the door," Erik ordered softly as Christine entered the room.

She drew a deep breath and crossed to the seat opposite Erik's desk. After taking a minute to smooth her dress and calm her shaking hands, she looked up, waiting an explanation.

"I have received a letter from Ashlyn Walter's man of business. He said you owe the Walters eleven thousand pounds. You and Mrs Walter bought a house during your time in London." Erik paused as he waited for Christine to comment. "Did you not think that I might like to know you were spending such a large amount of money?"

Still Christine refused to respond. She could imagine his temper flaring and him reaching across the desk to wrap around her throat in the same way he had done to Raoul. She touched her throat nervously.

As if sensing her anxiety, Erik moved to pour her a glass of brandy which she accepted and nervously sipped. Erik crouched down beside her chair and touched her face.

"I am not angry. I wish you had written to me; but that cannot be undone now. A husband must pay his wife's bills; if your bills are houses and teachers and not dresses then so be it."

Christine smiled at his comment. He truly was not angry that she had bought a house – _a house_ – behind his back. She gripped the hand that was still caressing her face.

"I had to do it, Erik! There are so many orphaned children now because of the war. They needed somewhere to stay. The building that we had was completely inappropriate!"

Erik placed a finger over her lips to silence her ramblings. "These children do not realise how fortunate they are that they have you."

Tears glistened in Christine's eyes. Had he ever paid her a more handsome compliment? "Thank you for being so understanding."

Erik nodded as he straightened. "I do have one condition before you go, Christine. Next time you feel the urge to purchase a house or carriage – anything larger than a wardrobe – speak to me. If I do not agree immediately, I have no doubt that you will be able to talk me around."

Christine laughed and gave her word.

* * *

Christine had little more than a week to organise the fete that Erik had asked her to return to Cornwall to organise. She had to laugh at the way her marriage seemed to work. In the first month, Erik hid himself away and was always working. Now, she was hiding away in her personal study trying to organise the fete for the tenants in a week. 

She spent much of her time with the housekeeper discussing the events and amusements that had previously been held. Thus far, she had horse jumping competitions, races, archery and games for the children. She had briefly considered having a cockfight to amuse the gentlemen, but quickly dismissed the idea. Christine had never been more thankful to have Mrs Carson on her side, assisting her in the planning of the fete.

If she was not with Mrs Carson, Erik was dragging her to some spot or another over the estate. He arranged picnics by the river, tea and drawing lessons out in the garden, and rides over the estate. After dinner they would often sit at the pianoforte to play and sing together until well into the night. She smiled as she thought of how attentive he was. After dinner he would walk her up to her rooms, offer her his wonderfully supportive and comforting embrace and retire to his own rooms.

_This_ was the man she fell in love with. She was falling deeply in love with her husband.

The night before the fete, Christine was in the study yet again going over the menu with Mrs Carson.

"Is that suitable?" Christine asked when the housekeeper did not comment on the menu.

"My lady, this food is not suitable for… tenants. Simple foods that can be eaten with the fingers are generally preferred."

Christine felt like a veritable idiot. How could she have overlooked something so simple?

"Bread, cheese and meats are typically best," Mrs Carson continued gently. "Do not worry about the original menu, Lady Erik. It is your first time organising a fete; next year, you will sail through. Looking at everything you have planned I do not doubt but that it will be a success."

Christine nodded as she accepted the woman's reassurance. She pulled out a list of things that needed to be done before the neighbours and tenants arrived tomorrow afternoon.

"There is so much to be done for tomorrow!" Christine cried, despair beginning to overwhelm her. She could not throw a fete for the entire seat. She had never even organised a dinner party! "Tables to fix, barrels of ale to be moved, the jumps and the targets to be arranged! It is too much!"

Christine buried her face in her hands as she broke down. She mumbled behind her hands and Mrs Carson was only able to pick up a few words. _Test. Prove. Erik. Suitable._

The housekeeper put a motherly arm around the girl. "There, there, milady. Everything will work out just fine. You have a large staff here, and we are all willing to help in any way to make sure your fete tomorrow goes off without a hitch."

Christine sniffed at the calming words. She dried her eyes and faced Mrs Carson. "Do not tell, Lord Erik about what happened in here. I do not want him knowing I am a mess."

Mrs Carson nodded and quit the room with the revised menu.

A few minutes later, Erik entered to find Christine staring at the lists on her desk. She glanced up at him as he entered, smiled and returned her attention to the papers. In that brief glance, Erik saw all he needed to. His wife was stressed and completely out of her depth in organising this damn fete he had allowed his damn butler to convince him to hold.

Erik sat in the chair opposite her desk and waited for her to put her pen down before he began to speak. She continued to ignore him. He reached across her desk and pushed everything she was working onto the floor.

"_Erik_!" she gasped in outrage. She could feel the tears forming again. She rose and began to pick up the papers in an attempt to hide the tears that were falling down her cheeks.

"Darling, you are working too hard. It does not matter if the fete is not perfect." Erik squatted in front of her and tilted her face up to his.

"Yes it does!" she cried as she pushed away from his touch and stared out the window. She wiped fiercely at the tears.

"Why?"

"_Because_! Because I need to prove to you that I am a suitable wife; that you may not find me attractive but I am more than capable of acting as a proper hostess. I know you did not wish this marriage, but I _can_ make you a good wife!"

Erik laughed mirthlessly at her belief that he did not find her attractive. He could not stand being in the same room and not touching her in some small way.

"Christine, I have no doubt in your ability to act as my hostess." He wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her back against his body. "It is late; come upstairs and we will go to bed. You may wake up early to oversee the preparations."

"But, Erik."

"It will still be there when you wake. Come."

Erik held out his hand for her to take. With an angry pout, Christine wrapped her fingers around his and allowed him to lead her upstairs. In her chamber, Erik handed Christine over to the care of her maid.

When Christine emerged from the dressing room a few minutes later, she gasped when she saw Erik sitting in her chair perusing the list from the bedside table. He glanced up when he heard her enter the room.

It was not surprising she was so anxious about the fete tomorrow. Her lists were immense. She had lists of guests – ranked according to their status – lists of food and events and a list of things to be done in the morning.

"What are you doing here still?" Christine asked her husband as she shooed Quintin away.

Erik carefully set the paper down where he found it before answering. "I wanted to make sure you were feeling well."

Christine frowned at him. "Did Mrs Carson say something to you?"

Erik shook his head. "I am your husband, Christine; is it not my duty to know when you are upset?"

Christine shrugged. She did not know how to respond.

They stood in silence, both willing the other to make the first move. Erik gazed into Christine's eyes and saw worry, insecurity and need shining in the depths. He should go to her and offer her the comfort she needed.

"Good night, my lady."

"Good night, Erik."

As she spoke, Erik watched Christine's lips move. He loved the way they formed his name and the way it sounded when she said it. Without knowing what possessed him, he was across the room and placing a light kiss on her lips.

Christine pulled her lips from his with a sob. "I hope that was not out of pity."

"How could I kiss you with anything other than passion? Do you really think that I do not find you beautiful?" Erik asked as he tilted her head back so he could look into her eyes. "I have waited for so long to make you my wife."

"Do you really mean that?"

He placed another kiss on her lips. "You do not know me if you think I would lie to you, Christine. You are a beautiful woman and any man who cannot see it is an idiot."

"He would be blind," Christine corrected – some of her old humour resurfacing.

Erik chuckled and pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. His hands found the ties of her nightgown and he tugged them open. Before his hands could slip inside the fabric, he pulled away.

"Tell me now if you want me to stop, Christine. I may not be able to stop if you wait any longer."

She ran a hand down his mask, relishing in the smooth feeling of the leather. "I don't want you to stop. I want to be your wife."

Erik growled and pulled her back against his body as he resumed kissing her.

* * *

Christine was not as stressed the following morning as she imagined she would be. Erik remained close to her the entire morning to keep her calm and to offer his assistance at any moment. It was his presence by her side that kept Christine calm. 

"I did not think we would get it finished," Christine commented as she surveyed the grounds. Everything was in its place and perfectly arranged. It really was not a bad effort for her first attempt at entertaining.

Erik smiled at her before he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. "I knew you could do it."

He gave her a slow kiss. Since he had tasted her lips last night it could not get enough of them. Christine collapsed against his side for a moment, drawing on his energy before she gently pushed away from him with a playful frown.

"We have just enough time to change before the guests begin to arrive."

"I can think of something we could do in that time."

Christine blushed bright pink as the meaning of Erik's words sunk in. With an outraged laugh, she ran up the terrace steps to their rooms. Erik was close behind her.

Christine spent much of the fete at Erik's side as they wandered amongst their tenants and neighbours. Erik was quick to make use of any opportunity that allowed him to place a kiss on any part of his wife's face or hands.

At one stage during the afternoon, he had even arranged a small plate of food for Christine and insisted on feeding her. He could not take his eyes off her lips. As he spoke to Mr and Mrs Watson, he found his mind wandering imagining how he would seduce his wife tonight.

The Heatons were watching the children jump their horses with many of the parents. Christine leaned comfortably into her husband's chest, a blush lighting her face when she felt his hands rest on her hips. As a little girl of about five went sailing over one of the highest jumps, Christine gasped and hid her face in his coat. The memories of Dru's injury were too fresh in her mind.

"Tell me when I can look, Erik."

Erik's hands tightened around her waist as he held her in place. He waited for the girl to be helped off the horse before he told Christine it was safe to look.

"Are you sure?"

Erik laughed and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Yes, Christine. It's safe."

He placed another kiss on her upturned lips, earning applause and cheers from the surrounding tenants. Christine blushed and hid her face in Erik's coat in a moment of mortification before reluctantly stepping away from him.

"Your lordship, I didn't see you there. I did not mean any disrespect, sir."

Erik and Christine swung around to face one of his neighbours. He sent her a weak smile. "Good afternoon, Mrs Greene. You must be waiting for Billy."

Christine smiled, pleased that Erik knew his tenants so well.

"Yes, Lord Erik." Mrs Greene's eyes were fixed on Erik's cravat. She was not the only tenant who spoke to Erik's neckcloth. "Billy is such a fine jumper; my husband always says that he could ride before he could walk. Hopefully his younger brother will be just as good when he is old enough to ride," she said, indicating the bundle she held in her arms.

"A baby? How old is he?" Christine asked, her eyes lighting in the way only a clucky woman could.

"Only two months, my lady. Would you like to hold him?" she asked noting with interest that Lady Erik seemed to be trying to prevent herself from touching the baby.

Christine smiled so brilliantly at the woman that Erik wanted to throttle her for being the one to make his wife smile so brightly. That was his job!

Mrs Greene passed the baby boy into Christine's arms. She could not help but smile as she watched Lady Erik coo and cluck over her son. Christine ran a finger down his little face and smiled as he turned his mouth to her finger.

Christine sighed. It felt so wonderful to have a baby resting in her arms – even if it wasn't hers. She had been married three months and she was far from expecting her first child. If her mama knew she would not be pleased. When the time was right she and Erik would have their baby. Christine sighed again in contentment.

Erik too was enjoying watching his wife hold the baby. He could easily imagine Christine and his child. She seemed to have such a natural ability. She would make a wonderful mother. For the first time in his life, Erik wished that he had a child. It was possible, he reminded himself. He had the wife he never imagined he would; perhaps a son was not impossible.


	13. Man of Truth

**The Phantom of the Regency **

AN: Thank you so much for all your reviews and for sticking with Erik and Christine. They've taken a big step, but they still have a long way to go. The next few weeks will be crazy, but I will do my best to update whenever I get the chance. Enjoy!**  
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* * *

**Man of Truth**

Christine sat on the settee with Erik, their fingers entwined under their books. For the past hour they had been sitting silently together, each lost in the world of their story. Erik opened his mouth several times to speak to Christine but could not bring himself to interrupt her. She looked so beautiful, her sea green eyes shining as she read the Mrs Radcliffe's novel.

When the dressing bell rang for dinner and she did not move, Erik knew he would have to be the one to disturb her reading. If they were late for dinner Cook would leave them. The temperamental cook had already warned her employer only last night that if they were late for dinner once more that she would leave. She would not have her cooking spoiled because of his tardiness!

As if it was Erik's fault that he could not keep his hands of his wife! Erik smiled as he recalled the way he had frantically ripped the buttons from Christine's dress the night before. His wife had not protested; she merely enquired what was taking him so long. That was not the first time. However, it was the first time Quintin had shown any sign of acknowledgement at being forced to stitch the buttons back on another dress.

"Christine." She did not move her attention from the page. "_Lady Erik_."

Christine screamed and jumped to her feet, her book falling on the floor. She flicked a shocked look between the book and her husband. She was certain she had just heard her husband's voice speak from her book – but that did not seem possible.

"I'm sorry, Christine," Erik apologised, sweeping her hand up to his lips. "I needed to get your attention somehow."

"You did that?" She was still staring nervously at the book.

Erik did not answer her. He had hoped that she would accept his gifts with a little more enthusiasm. "It is time to dress for dinner. The bell rang five minutes ago."

He offered his arm and was relieved when Christine took it without a thought.

"Did you make my book speak, Erik?" Christine asked as they made their way upstairs.

"Yes."

He was not going to offer her any more information until he knew precisely how she felt. Generally people viewed his talents simply as an amusing way to pass the time – and that was precisely what they were. The people of Portugal did not always view them in such a benevolent manner. Not that Erik could blame them. Who could trust a masked man who was able to throw his voice and do magic tricks?

Christine laughed. "Can you make other things speak? I have read the natives in New Zealand and the Eskimos are very good at throwing their voices," she continued, not giving him the opportunity to answer her question. "I never imagined I would be married to a ventriloquist! It dates all the way back to the ancient Greeks!" She all but bounced with excitement.

Erik relaxed as he listened to Christine's abridged speech on the history of the art. How did he find himself married to such an understanding and educated creature?

She tugged on his arm at the door to her chamber, forcing him to stop. She was frowning at him. Panic gripped Erik's heart.

"You did not answer my question: can you make other things speak?"

Erik nodded. "Anything."

An amazed smile lit Christine's face. "Can you do anything else?"

"Magic," he whispered in her ear. He placed a kiss on her jaw and went to change.

Christine stared after her husband. He had revealed more to her than he had ever. She smiled to herself as she ducked into her room. She would enjoy learning all about her husband.

And learn more about her husband she did – that very night. The story Erik shared pleased Christine very little. But she really only had herself to blame.

She had been thinking of the way he had so easily threatened to call Raoul out and how he had punched Aberdeen in the jaw so strongly. There was a world of difference between hitting a man once because he deserved it and killing another in cold blood. She knew he had spent eleven years in the army and that sometimes one was forced to do unpleasant things.

"How could you do such a thing?" she demanded aghast.

Erik had finally summoned the courage to tell her of his time during his Grand Tour. Eighteen months into the tour of the Continent, Erik's tutor had been called back to England to nurse his dying father. Erik travelled east having heard tales of the beauties, art and wealth to be found in India and China.

Erik stayed in India for several months and managed to stay relatively unnoticed. One unfortunate day his peaceful existence was forgotten and he was forced to return to England in disgrace.

He had been walking the streets at dusk, enjoying the cooling air when he chanced upon the pretty Lady Aleni Johnson walking unaccompanied. Erik had admired the youngest daughter to a wealthy duke from a distance since meeting her two months earlier. The Lady Aleni was in the then current English fashion with blonde hair and blue eyes.

A young officer approached her and they exchanged a few words. From his position on the other side of the street, Erik could not make out a single word. Lady Aleni shook her head vehemently and tried to rush home. The officer – who Erik soon found out was the son of a baron – followed and forced himself on her.

Erik was at her rescue in a moment. Aleni ran down the street and away from the confrontation the moment she gained control of her legs. Erik, furious at seeing Lady Aleni abused, beat the captain to an inch of his life. He only stopped when he heard other officers approaching.

The next morning he was stowed away on a ship bound for England. The captain died as a result of his injuries.

"How could you, Erik?"

Erik could not bear to look at his wife's face. He could hear the anger, sadness, disgust and worst of all fear in her voice.

"I just lost control," he offered her as a weak explanation for the events all those years ago. "It seemed as though yet another thing I cared about was being taken away from me."

Erik reached out to clasp Christine's hand in his, but she pushed it away. A sob echoed in the silent room as he turned from her accusing eyes.

"Don't do this; don't turn away from me now. The only other person I told abandoned me when I told him. All my life I have watched people I cared about and thought cared for me turn away from me when I needed them the most. I cannot lose you, Christine. I need you now more than I ever have.

"You once said that we were right; we belonged together. I know my past is unpleasant – and I am not proud of it – but that does not make our love wrong."

Christine rose from her seat and stood in front of her husband. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him in a tight embrace. How she wished she could stay like this forever! Erik held her just as tightly.

He tilted her chin back to look into her sparkling eyes. The dark thoughts that had been plaguing him vanished. She moved to rest her head against his chest in that comforting embrace that only Erik could offer.

"I'm sorry for reacting how I did, Erik. I forget how dangerous you are – it scares me," she mumbled into his cravat.

"You need never be afraid of me, love. I would never hurt you."

Christine smiled at his gentle promise. Despite what she had heard and witnessed, she believed him. Erik would never do anything that would hurt her.

* * *

"I will inform his lordship that Mr Greene is here," Christine said to Drake as she rose from the _chaise_ where she had been working on her sketching. 

She had been thinking of her husband – as usual – as she carefully drew the vase of fresh flowers sitting on the table. Last night she had woken to find Erik's side of the bed empty. She had searched for him and found him staring into the embers of the fire. He seemed totally oblivious to her presence. It was not the first time she had found Erik wide awake in the middle of the night. Christine wondered if she should send for the doctor.

"Send Quintin up to help me change, please, Drake. See to a pot of tea, cakes and biscuits. And a large plate of cucumber sandwiches," she ordered over her shoulder with a grin as she ran up the stairs to tell Erik they had a visitor and to change her dress.

Drake raised his eyes heavenward at his employer's antics. She was now openly running through the house in stockinged feet. It was just one of the characteristics of Lady Erik that he accepted and was slowly finding endearing. He collected her slippers, prepared to hand them to hand them to Quintin. A reluctant smile came to his lips as he went below stairs to carry out Christine's orders.

Christine knocked on the door of the study after she changed her blue morning dress for a green tea dress. She quietly peaked around the corner to see her husband sitting at the desk, a frown marring his forehead and his hair dishevelled.

"Erik?"

He looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled. He had left orders that he was not to be disturbed – if it had been anyone but his wife, they would have found the inkwell hurling towards them. He glanced down at his desk and quickly hid a letter from his lawyer under some other papers.

"What is it?" he asked as he rose from his chair and held out his hand, beckoning her towards him.

Christine crossed to the desk and placed a kiss on his bare cheek and his masked one. Her arms slipped around his waist. "Mr Greene has come to call. I think has come to gloat over his son's latest progress. Drake is keeping him occupied with a plate of sweets; hopefully some of your sandwiches will be left."

Erik grinned and placed a kiss on her nose. He took her hand and placed it on his arm, prepared to lead her to the drawing room when she resisted. He cocked his head enquiringly.

Standing on her toes, Christine fixed his hair as best she could without any of his combs. When she was satisfied with her work, she placed another kiss on his lips and wrapped her hand around his arm.

"Miles would have an apoplexy if he saw the state of your hair."

Erik smiled. "He is accustomed to my typical dishabille."

"Perhaps on the Peninsula, but you are in England now, sir. You have an image to maintain. Now, let us go and save your sandwiches."

"Just one moment, love. I would like to have a word with you."

Christine swallowed. Releasing his arm, she stepped back and looked him. "Just one?" His softly spoken words made her nervous.

"What is the meaning of this?" Erik demanded gently as he held an envelope under her nose.

Christine immediately recognised the hand and attempted to snatch at the letter. Erik easily pulled it out of her reach. "It is a letter from Raoul."

"And you have been corresponding with him?"

"I have only responded to his missive once, and it was nothing of import."

"I believe I will be the one to determine that. I will not have you writing to him." Erik threw the letter into the fire and then pulled her into his arms. "I cannot like you writing regularly with another man. You are mine, and I do not intend to share you with anyone else."

If she wasn't so pleased at the streak of jealousy her husband had just shown, Christine would have been furious at his high-handed behaviour. The way he was looking at her, his pale eyes smouldering, she would agree to anything he said.

"I think it would be best if you write to him and recommend that he does not write here anymore."

"Very well," she relented after a moment with a sigh as she stepped out of his embrace and made her way to the door. "However, I would remind you, that he did act as my escort while I was alone in London."

"You were alone in London, Lady Erik, because you ran away," Erik informed her in a cold voice. He had been reluctant to talk about what had transpired a few months ago. But since Christine had brought up the topic herself, he would not miss the opportunity to question her.

"I did not run away!" Christine snapped, furious that he thought her so cowardly; although if she was honest with herself, she did run away. She had behaved as a disgraced wife would. Except in this case, rather than hiding in the country, she hid in the city. "I left and did not expect to be missed."

"Why would I not miss you, Christine?" Erik asked confused as he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"My own husband clearly showed no interest in me. You could not expect me to stay here as if I was nothing more than an unwanted houseguest. So of course when I was in London I appreciated any form of attention from a man. What did you imagine, Erik?"

"You left because you thought I had no interest in you?"

Christine shrugged. "Among other reasons."

"What are the other reasons?" Erik's arms stole around her waist and held her tight when she would have pulled away. "Tell me."

"It was clear you resented me for taking away your freedom. You have been all over the world and in the army for close to half your life! Being caught with a silly green girl was the last thing you wanted. I could not bear you hating me. _That_ is why I left."

"Christine," Erik sighed sadly as he pulled her against his body and kissed her. "I never hated you. I stayed away from you because _you_ didn't want this marriage. I love you."

Christine was about to protest that she had always wanted to be married to him when she paused. "You love me?" 

Erik placed a soft kiss on her lips. "With all my heart."

Christine sighed contentedly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you; I always have."

Erik's lips cut off any further declarations Christine may have made. After a few minutes of sharing whispered words between kisses, Christine rested her head on his chest. Everything seemed right with the world.

"I hope you do not want any sandwiches, Erik. Mr Greene is sure to have eaten them all by now!"

He shook his head. "I have you; what do I care for cucumber sandwiches?" Christine smiled brilliantly at his compliment and earned herself another kiss. Erik kissed her hand, placed it on his arm and all but dragged her to the drawing room to save what remained of his sandwiches.

* * *

Raoul threw his brandy into the fire. 

The flames leapt about the alcohol, flaring to life. He missed the lovely Lady Erik with her handsome looks and intelligent conversation. That she would willingly go to her husband was incomprehensible.

How could such a beauty as she be happy with a man who was so deformed he wore a mask to hide his ugliness? It did not matter that his scars were said to be the result of defending his country. He was ugly and she was beautiful.

The lady did not know what she was involved in. Someone had to rescue her – from herself.


	14. Gifts of the Heart

**Gifts of the Heart**

The storm continued to rage. The rain splattered against the window and the wind stirred the branches against the roof.

Erik was sleeping peacefully with Christine in his arms, her legs wrapped possessively around his. He pushed the blankets from his body as he broke out in a sweat and began to toss. Christine murmured in her sleep and shifted in his arms.

Lightning flashed, lighting up the room, quickly followed by a loud crash of thunder.

Erik swore as he pushed Christine violently from his body and bolted upright in the bed. It took a few moments for him to realise that he was safely in his bedroom and not in the middle of a battlefield. He sat staring into the dark room as he allowed his breathing to return to normal.

Christine tentatively raised a hand to his shoulder and felt his tense muscles beneath her hand. She slipped from the bed, pulling on her robe as she crossed to the dressing room to return with a wet cloth and a candle. She sat on the bed next to him and began to bathe his face.

"Tell me about Waterloo, Erik," Christine pleaded. She took his hands and squeezed them encouragingly.

"No." He did not want to talk about the events he had experienced and had tried oh so hard to bury and forget. He wanted to pretend that it had never happened. Five years on, his memories still haunted him. Anything to do with his time on with the 95th, the Peninsula and Waterloo was best forgotten.

"Yes, Erik!" Christine snapped as she clutched his shoulders.

Erik looked doubtfully at his young wife. How could he burden her with the horrific events of life on the Peninsula and the final confrontation? He could not – would not – tell her of the things he saw and acts he committed.

"I have heard that it is helpful if you talk about it. It was the cavalry, wasn't it? Were you attacked?"

Erik rose swiftly from the bed and crossed to stare out the window. If he told her what happened, her innocence would be gone. The bright sparkle that lit her eyes would fade to be replaced by constant concern.

He winced as thunder followed lightning.

"It was as though the battle at Quatre Bras was being repeated right before my eyes. Only days earlier the 42nd and the Highlanders were killed by the cavalry. They were slaughtered! You cannot imagine what it was like when they were cut by the sabres and trampled under the horses.

"I was in the sandpit. I watched as the French cuirassiers butchered the men guarding Haye Saint. They did not even have time to mount a counterattack." His voice took on a distant tone as he spun around to face Christine with wild, unseeing eyes.

"The cuirassiers turned their attention to the main force. All I remember was the mass of horses charging towards us. I remember a lot of the 95th panicking and running. I wanted to run with them and escape the slaughter. I wanted to run like a bloody coward and see England once more. But I couldn't; I froze. _I froze_."

Tears were streaming down Erik's face as he recalled the traumatic events that had affected him – and numerous others – so deeply. Christine moved to where he was standing and gently wiped his tears. She had not seen the tears that ran down her husband's face in the low light, but rather had heard them catching in his throat as he spoke.

"It must have been terrifying, Erik; it is only natural that you reacted how you did," she said softly, her hand still cupping his face.

He growled angrily and pushed her away. "It is not natural. I was their commanding officer; I was supposed to be above such weaknesses."

Christine shook her head but said nothing. She wanted to shake him and tell him that his reaction was normal and to be expected from a human. "Tell me what happened next."

"I don't know. I think I ordered them to fire." Erik paused as he tried to recall the events during the attack. "The 95th survived the assault."

"Were you injured?"

Erik nodded. "I took a cut to my arm."

Christine knew that was not his only injury. She had felt the scars on his abdomen and thighs when they lay together at night.

"How do you feel about what happened at Waterloo?"

"Not a day goes by that I do not hate myself! I hate that I survived and was able to return home while so many of my colleagues and men were slaughtered. I feel guilty that when my men needed my support the most I was not able to help them."

"Living is not your fault, Erik," Christine responded softly as she reached out cautiously to touch his arm. "The men died serving their country as I am sure they would have liked to. You have been given an opportunity to live…and love," she added shyly. "You have to make the most of each day. Stop mourning their deaths and celebrate their lives and your own."

Erik remained silent for a few minutes as he considered his wife's wise words. His arms automatically reached out to her and he pulled her into his arms. He rested his cheek on her head as the tears began to flow again.

"Everyday I am thankful that you returned from Waterloo. If you had not we would not be married and sharing the rest of our lives. I am happy here with you; all I want is to be with you."

Christine felt Erik place a kiss on the crown of her head. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him.

They could get through this, Christine promised herself. As long as they were together and Erik was willing to talk to her about his life there was nothing they could not handle. They would overcome his past and have a normal and happy future.

* * *

Christine found herself smiling as Quintin dressed her for dinner. Her relationship with Erik had been changing at a very fast rate and they were now acting in a way very different to the way they had in the early stages of their marriage. Erik was becoming known to the workers. They all seemed to like and respect him a great deal. They knew better than to let his mask bother them.

He had been dropping little bits of information about himself over the past few months. Since the incident with the storm he had told her much more than she could have hoped. He still had the occasional moment of anxiety, but it did not seem as bad. To Christine, it felt as if an invisible barrier had been knocked down. She felt so much closer to him now that she knew what he had experienced.

But at the same time, she could feel Erik trying to withdraw from her. It was almost as if he felt she knew too much and was too much of a threat.

Knowledge was power. Power over him.

She had insisted on accompanying him that morning when he went and rode over to the tenants. Reluctantly he had given in and they spent the morning talking and laughing. Erik took great pleasure in pointing out anything that he thought Christine would find interesting.

They had arrived at Mrs Mayer's house to see her children playing in the front garden. The two little girls smiled and waved as Lord and Lady Erik made their way up the path.

"Look what my mama made me!" one of the girls cried as she ran up to the couple. She did a little spin and her brown cape swirled around her little body.

"She made one for me too!"

The younger of the two took Erik's hand and dragged him indoors while her sister took Christine's arm. Erik smiled at the little imp and spoke to her as if talking to a four year old was the most natural thing for him to do.

It was that interaction that convinced Christine that Erik would make a wonderful father. She felt certain of his reaction to her news.

Christine thanked Quintin then went into Erik's dressing room where Miles was finishing dressing Erik. The valet stepped back to assess his handiwork. His hands went for Erik's cravat, but were slapped away.

"Leave the thing; it is fine. You know full well I refuse to take longer than her ladyship when it comes to dressing!" Erik fixed the man with a gentle glare.

Christine had to laugh. Erik was determined never to become one of those men who fussed over his appearance for hours on end. What would he do if she hurried Quintin in her dressing? She smiled as she imagined the result. No doubt it would be her maid who resigned and not Erik's valet.

In the drawing room as they waited for Drake to announce dinner, Christine waited for the right moment to tell Erik her news. She had intended to wait until _after_ dinner, but could not. How could she hold back such delightful news a moment longer?

She noticed that he had been distant for most of the day. Since they left the two Mayer girls Erik had been behaving as if he was on another planet.

"Erik, I have something to tell you."

His head came snapping up from the decanter. He could not like the tone of voice she was using. It was the walking on eggshells tone that said he would not like what she was about to say. He carefully set the bottle down before he broke it and slowly turned to face her.

"I am increasing!"

His eyes strayed to her stomach. He looked into her eyes then back at her stomach.

Erik quickly hid the look of dread that passed across his face. If Christine was with child – his child – there was a risk that he or she would end up looking like its father. How could he bring a child into the world that could be faced with all the pain he had?

But how could he be concerned about that when he saw how happy and glowing his wife was? Her smile was warming him from her position halfway across the room. It was more than obvious that she was thrilled with her pending motherhood. She would be a perfect mother – and unfashionable – he decided as he recalled the way she held Mrs Greene's son. He would not have Christine sending their children away with a nurse or pulling them out for display.

Christine wiped a tear away from her cheek. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, I am; very happy. I am going to have a son." He spoke slowly as he sank down onto the settee next to his wife. He took her hand and held it between both of his.

Erik placed a soft kiss on her lips but Christine pulled away with a gentle frown.

"It is possible that it will be a daughter."

Erik shook his head and laughed. "Firstborns are always sons."

He dipped his head to her lips and pulled her onto his lap. Christine linked her arms around his neck and twirled his hair around her fingers. She sighed happily into his mouth.

Drake opened the door. He let out a soft and completely inappropriate chuckle when he saw the dishevelled couple kissing in the middle of the drawing room. Erik and Christine looked up and quickly tried to put an appropriate amount of distance between their bodies.

Erik frowned at the butler as he escorted his wife into the dining room. He had been treated as a spectacle his entire life. He did not like it in his own home and particularly not by a servant.


	15. Under the Kissing Bough

**Under the Kissing Bough**

Christine squeezed Erik's hand as she listened to the local vicar's sermon. The old man was very well spoken and often came to the school to speak to the children at the holidays. She inhaled the scent of holly and spices that had been used to decorate the main hall and smiled.

It was only nine days to Christmas. It would be Erik and Christine's first Christmas together.

Christine, Erik, Daphne and Ashlyn were all in London for a few days to celebrate Christmas with the children before returning to Cornwall for the intimate party Christine was hosting. She hoped to invite Drusilla but she was currently in Italy on her wedding trip with Warwick Felton. She had also suggested that Erik invite his brother and his family to join them in Cornwall but he had resisted. He was convinced that they had their own traditions that had best not be broken.

The two ladies had spent weeks exchanging letters between themselves – and London. They were determined to organise the greatest Christmas fete at the school for the children.

When Christine first approached Erik with the idea of going to London a few days before Christmas, she was not certain how he would react. But when she told him it was for the children, he had readily agreed and even promised to pay for everything she needed. She was to spare no expense.

The tables in the main hall had been rearranged into two long tables. The children _oohed_ as they watched the procession of food march out before them. Very soon, the tables were covered in roast goose, mince pies, Christmas loaf, turkey and sage toasties and plum pudding had been placed on them. They had never seen such sumptuous food. The teachers, children and guests all sat down together to enjoy the traditional meal.

Christine and Daphne shared a pleased smile as they watched the children. Everything had turned out exactly as they hoped. It was not often that the children had an opportunity to celebrate. To Christine, Christmas was the perfect excuse to celebrate; to celebrate family and friends.

* * *

The day before Christmas dawned with the sun weakly shining through the clouds. Erik tightened his grip around Christine's waist as she stretched her length along the bed. 

"It's strange, isn't it?" Christine asked as she gazed off into space with a contented smile on her face.

Erik paused for a moment. He was well aware he was supposed to know what was strange, but he could not for the life of him determine what it was. He quickly and silently cursed the female mind.

"What's strange, dear?" He placated her with a kiss on her forehead.

"Your best friend is the husband of my best friend." She giggled at the thought. "At least we do not have to worry of disliking the other's friend or spouse."

Erik considered her words. "I suppose I owe it to Daphne that we are married."

"Daphne?" Christine asked, confused as she struggled to sit up. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"Did you not realise that your friend has a penchant for matchmaking?"

"Erik, what utter nonsense! Daphne did not match us together, she would not…"

Erik chuckled as Christine's voice faded.

"I suppose you are right; Daph does have quite a romantic nature. We were trying to arrange a partnership between Drusilla and Warwick. Only look how well _that_ turned out! Daphne and I only partnered Dru and Warwick after that first night at dinner. If they did not show any interest in the other we would never have interfered." Christine tried to defend her actions.

Erik was quick to offer more accounts of her friend's matchmaking antics to support his belief when he saw her conviction waver.

"Mrs Walter used every opportunity at the house party to throw us together. There was the time at the picnic when she conveniently decided that just simply had to view the duck pond and raced off, leaving us unchaperoned. Then during the race to the middle of the maze, she insisted that we pair up as a team."

Erik paused as he considered Daphne's not so subtle attempts to match them together. He pulled Christine back to the comfort of his arms and kissed her.

"I think you are right that she would never have tried to unite us if she did not think there was something there – or if we would not suit."

"Erik Heaton! You claimed you did not love me and now you say that Daph is the reason we are married. And all because of a look we shared?"

"We were married because of your mother, Christine. But I always loved you; right from the start."

Christine rolled onto her stomach with a sigh of pleasure. She wiggled into the mattress for a moment and then fixed her husband with a serious look and sparkling eyes.

"Do you still love me?"

Erik chuckled and placed a kiss on her shoulder. "I have never stopped loving you, Christine."

She smiled at his tenderly spoken words. They were so solemnly said that she knew them to be true. "I love you, Erik. I think I fell in love with you that first night. You were so arrogant that I could not help but love you." She shifted to place a lingering kiss on his lips effectively silencing his protest. "If you loved me, why deny me when I told you of my feelings at the Walters'?"

"Because of this." He pointed to his mask. "You are a beautiful woman and should not be with a man such as myself. I was also battling my own demons," he said referring to his traumatic re-experiencing of the past. "It was-"

Christine silenced his further protests with a kiss. "It does not matter. You are my husband now." She smiled softly before she leaned in to kiss him again.

Later, Christine shot confused glances at her husband as they made their way downstairs to the breakfast room; he was up to something. Every time she tried to rise from the bed he would pull her back and cover her with kisses. It did not take much for her to forget her desire to get up.

As they walked past the drawing room, Erik lengthened his strides, forcing Christine to skip to keep up with him. There was movement in the room. Perhaps he had ordered the servants to rearrange the furniture as she suggested the other day.

During breakfast Drake stood at Erik's elbow and informed him that the staff was now finished. Erik simply nodded and returned his attention back to his breakfast. Infuriated and intrigued, Christine watched her husband for a clue. His face showed nothing.

"What are you planning, Erik?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "You really should eat more breakfast, Christine. Are you certain you won't have any eggs?"

Christine huffed at her husband. Curse him for leaving her in the dark and deliberately changing the subject. She took a sip of her tea and winced at its tepid temperature.

Just when she thought she could not stand the suspense – and was considering demanding that he show her whatever it was that he was being so secretive about or she would tip her cold tea over his head – Erik rose and beckoned her into the drawing room with him.

He threw open the door and stood proudly beside his wife. Her shriek of surprise was not quite what he had hoped for. Erik had imagined her gasping at the sight of the beauty and all the servants' work before going up to it an examining it. She would then settle herself in his arms and kiss him as they stared up at them.

"There are trees in the middle of the drawing room, Erik."

Erik felt his heart drop at her tone. Ever since he had experienced a traditional German Christmas during his Grand Tour he had celebrated the holiday with a tree. During Wellington's Peninsular campaign, he would find a branch and decorate it with folded paper ornaments. The first time he had done it, the men in the ranks had laughed at him – behind his back, of course. It was only his sergeant who dared laugh at his pitiful Tanenbaum to his face. The following years however, the men learnt to look forward to the touch of Christmas Erik brought to the camp.

He had been abroad for so many years that he had forgotten that the English did not have Christmas trees. That was why he was so determined to give Christine a traditional European Christmas. He wanted to share the beauty of the tree with his wife who had never been outside of England.

"They _are _lovely, Erik, but why are they in the room?" Christine asked her question when he remained for too long.

She had seen the hurt in his eyes when she had blandly informed him of the obvious. Of course he knew there were trees in the drawing room. This was obviously the surprise he had been planning. He had reminded her of her brother for a moment. When he saw his gifts, Danny's eyes would shine and an excited grin would light up his face. She had spoiled his surprise.

Erik tsked her in an attempt to hide his feelings. He hid behind humour. "You English, you do not know true Christmas traditions when you see them."

"You forget that you are English also, Erik." Christine smiled at her husband.

Christine wandered around the three small trees that had been placed side by side on a table. Now that the shock had faded, she could admit that they truly were beautiful. They were covered in candles, beads and silver ornaments. She had never seen anything like it.

"It is silver!" she gasped in amazement as she touched the thin metal. She reached for Erik's hand and stared at the trees. "Tell me about these."

Erik moved to stand behind Christine and pulled her against his chest as they gazed up at the trees. His hands rested on her stomach and gently caressed her skin. He began to tell her of his Christmas some ten years ago in Germany and all the traditions. "They have a tree for every family member and are decorated precisely as you see them here."

Christine tipped her head back to glance between her husband and the trees. Three? She smiled brilliantly as she spun around to look at him before wrapping his arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "One for our babe as well?"

Erik placed a kiss on the crown of her head. "We are a family now, Christine."

"We are," she agreed as she tilted her head back, inviting him to kiss her. She sighed as the kiss deepened. "You are happy, aren't you?"

Erik looked down at his wife with an injured expression. "Of course I am happy, Christine. You have given me everything I thought I could not have; I have a beautiful wife and soon I will have a child. I am perfectly content with my lot and the world." He paused as he watched her eyes fill with tears. "Are you happy?"

She gave him a gentle shove. "How can you ask me that? I am so happy, Erik. I have not been happier. I missed you while I was in London. I tried to keep so busy that I would not have time to think of you. But I failed. I would think of you and wish you were there to hold me as I fell asleep."

Erik kissed along her neck and jaw before he kissed her lips. He tugged her against his body, closing the gap she had put between them. His hands caressed her breasts.

"Our guests are not expected for several hours perhaps we could retire."

When Christine did not protest, Erik scooped her into his arms and carried her across the room. At the bottom of the stairs, Christine pulled his head down to his hers. Her fingers began to quickly untie the knot of his cravat.

The front door was thrown open. The sound of movement behind caused Christine to pull away from her husband and wiggle in his grip. Erik tightened his grip to stop her squirming. Her face paled.

"Good morning, Mrs Daaé," Drake greeted Christine's mother loudly. He was aware of the couple embracing a few feet away. The last thing they would want was to be discovered by Lady Erik's mother. The couple were very skittish when it came to being discovered kissing by the staff. Little did he know it was his own fault.

Mrs Daaé breezed into the foyer, immediately spotting her daughter and son-in-law. She frowned when she saw her daughter in Lord Erik's arms.

"Welcome, Mama! We were not expecting you so soon." Christine's voice was too high as she greeted her mother. "Put me down," she hissed at her husband.

Erik frowned and shook his head. His eyes begged her to understand why he would not put her down.

Mrs Daaé watched the couple behaving so unfashionably – and abnormally.

"Christine slipped and sprained her ankle on the ice," Erik explained. Even to his ears his excuse sounded lame. "I was just taking her upstairs to rest."

Maria nodded. "I would like to rest for a while. The journey was simply dreadful, Christine. All that snow and the people; really Christine, how can you tolerate living here?"

"I'm sorry, Mama." Christine turned to the butler who was listening to the exchange with apparent disinterest. "Drake, see that my mother is shown up to her rooms straight away."

The butler nodded, and a moment later, Mrs Daaé was being shown up to her rooms by a young maid.

Up in their rooms, Erik glared at his wife in the mirror as he attempted to repair his cravat. He had tried to tie it five times. In the end he threw the fabric on the floor and retrieved a new cravat.

"Why did you insist on inviting your mother and the Walters?" Erik demanded as he spun around to face his wife.

Christine shrank back from his fury. She could not remember ever seeing her husband so angry before. No, she corrected herself, she had seen it twice. This was the first time it had ever been aimed at her. "I could not allow Mama to spend Christmas by herself. My father and brother are dead; there is no one."

Erik paced the length of the small dressing room. "But why Ash and Daphne?"

Christine shrugged. "Why not?"

With a growl, Erik threw himself into the chair. "My plans to spend the remainder of the morning ravishing you need to be rearranged."

"Why?"

Christine moved to perch on the arm of the chair. She reached out and touched the lapel of Erik's coat. He caught her hand in his.

"Why do you think you silly woman? Your blasted mother."

"For heaven sake, stop blaming her for everything! Do you truly dislike her that much?" Christine sulked as she pulled her hand out of his. "Are you still smarting because she rang a peal over your head for ruining me?"

"I dislike anyone who prevents me from being with my wife. And no, I am not a man to hold grudges – typically."

Christine screwed up her nose at him. "A very diplomatic answer, Erik." She marched to the door and threw it open and stomped down to the library.

She would hide herself away in the book room until Daphne arrived. Then she would sit down with her mother and best friend. She would ignore her husband for his comment about her mother. She would see how he liked being treated that way.

"_Christine_!"

"What?" she asked stiffly as she paused in the doorway. She turned to glower at him, only to find he was standing close enough to touch her.

Erik looked at his wife as numerous comments rushed through his head. None sounded right; they all seemed too accusing or insulting. It was Christmas Eve, the last thing he wanted to be doing was arguing with his wife!

"Let me say it for you then, Erik. 'Damn you, Christine, I wish that you had never invited your mother to stay. I am a selfish and possessive man and want to keep you from your family. I am your husband and should be able to have my wicked way with you whenever I please; I should not be interrupted by your mother!'"

Erik clenched his jaw at his wife's words. Clearly she was not going to let the matter drop. It was obvious she was spoiling for a fight – and so was he. He wondered if their tension stemmed from the same reason; Mrs Daaé's timing was atrocious.

"Christine. That was not what I was going to say."

"Do not blame me for your mistake, Erik. Why didn't you tell me you wanted to spend Christmas alone sooner? Why did you not speak up when I sent out the invitations?"

Erik raised his eyes to the ceiling, striving for calm. "Because you looked so beautiful and happy!"

"Be a man; find some resolve and speak up!"

Christine gasped as the words left her mouth. She had just informed her husband that she thought him lacking in courage! She wanted to run away and hide somewhere he would not find her.

Erik covered her mouth with his. His lips violently claimed hers, possessing her. His hands tangled in her hair and prevented her from pulling her away. Christine stood unyieldingly in his embrace, refusing to kiss him back.

His fingers began to massage her head and when Erik sucked on Christine's lower lip she melted in his arms. Her hands went to his shoulders in an attempt to prevent herself from collapsing. She returned his kiss with equal passion.

"I don't want to fight with you, Christine." Erik cupped her face in his hands. "I did not mean to upset you earlier."

Christine kissed his cheek. "I know."

"Do we agree that we have a truce now – at least until tomorrow?"

She nodded and snuggled into his chest. "Yes, a truce."

Erik kissed her ear and whispered, "See the stories are true; mistletoe is magic."

Christine glanced up and for the first time, noticed the ball of berries, greens and ribbons hanging above their heads. "Is this another of your Christmas traditions?"

"If you stand under the berries – as you are now, wife – you cannot refuse a kiss." Erik grinned as he pulled her in for another kiss. "Anyone feuding can kiss and declare a temporary peace."

Christine stood on her toes and placed a kiss on his chin. "Will you play for me?"

Erik nodded.

"And sing?"

She just wanted to sit quietly with her husband and listen as he sang for her; and her alone. She could easily forget the past half-hour when she was enveloped in Erik's musical voice. That was what she wanted.

When Erik nodded a second time, Christine smiled brightly and raised a hand to her husband's masked cheek and kissed him. She liked the idea of the kissing bough. Perhaps she could send the servants out to find more and place it in their bedroom – or all through the house.

* * *

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day passed far too quickly for Christine's liking. She had not realised just how much she had missed having her family and friends surrounding her. The holidays were always so dull without Danny around to provide noise and amusement. She would have a large family; no less than four children, she decided. 

Christine and Erik watched Mrs Daaé rush out of the room, her handkerchief clutched tightly in her hand. They had just informed Christine's mother and Daphne and Ashlyn that they were excitedly expecting their first child. The Walters reacted accordingly both smiling and congratulating the couple. Daphne turned to hug Christine tightly when the door slammed shut.

"Mama!"

Christine ran out of the room after her mother, unable to comprehend her reaction. She rarely saw Daniel's son and Christine imagined her mother to be over joyed at having a baby in the family once more.

"Mama, what is the matter?" Christine asked breathlessly as she caught up to her mother on the landing. "I thought you would be happy for us."

"Happy?" Mrs Daaé repeated with an outraged screech. "How can I be happy when my daughter is to have a child to _that_?"

"What?"

Mrs Daaé gestured frantically at her face.

_Erik's mask,_ Christine realised dully. "I do not understand."

"His face! I have spoken to some friends and I have learnt that Lord Erik's face was not injured on the Peninsula! He was born that way and your child may also be born with it!"

Christine glared at her mother. She could not comprehend her mother's change of heart. After all, it was thanks to her that she was now married to Erik. As if she was so shallow as to only love her husband and her child if they were attractive. If people chose to assume that Erik's injury was the result of a mishap while defending England, then so be it.

"I care not! If our child is born with Erik's features then I should be pleased and would love him regardless. I love Erik and do not care what he looks like under his mask!

"Does his receiving his marks in the war make them any different than if he was born with them? It is not the face that makes the person, Mama, it is their behaviour. Erik is the one of the most noble and considerate men I have ever met. I am honoured to call him husband."

Mrs Daaé gaped at her daughter, surprised that she was speaking out at her. Never had Christine openly resisted in such a manner. She knew that her daughter would often sneak behind her back after appearing to acquiesce but this was different. Marie did not know how to deal with this.

"Christine, be-"

Christine held her hand up, cutting off her mother's protests. "I think you need to lie down before dinner, Mama; you know your head. I will have your maid sent up to you immediately." Her lips were tightened in anger and her voice was cold.

Dismissing her mother, Lady Erik made her way back to the drawing room where she had left everyone.

"Christine," Erik's voice from the shadows of the staircase stopped her. The hand that clasped hers gently shook with his tightly controlled emotions.

She took one look at his face and sighed. "You heard?"

"Yes; every word. Did you mean it?"

Christine looked at him for a moment, trying to fathom what he needed to hear again. "Yes, I did. I love you, Erik; you know that. I do not care what you may look like under that mask or if our child will also have it. I love you and I love our baby." She smiled at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I am glad Mama forced us to marry."

"She has the right of it," he said solemnly. "It is more than possible that our babe will be born with my deformity."

Christine ran her thumb over the back of his hand in a soothing circle. "We do not know that for certain. But as I said, we will love our baby regardless whether he looks like his Papa or his Mama. Erik, he was created out of our love; how can anything like that be wrong?"

Erik nodded at her words and raised their joined hands to his lips. He sighed in contentment as Christine snuggled against his body. As much as he would have liked to stay in the position with his wife, Erik could not neglect their guests. "I suppose we should salvage what is left of this afternoon. The Walters are probably wondering what has happened to us!"

"Oh, heavens! Daphne and Ashlyn have been sitting there pretending they could not hear our shouting for the last ten minutes!"

"I wouldn't worry too much, from what I can gather, Daphne often argues with her parents when they come to stay. I am certain Ashy is accustomed to feigning deafness," Erik assured her as he offered his arm.

Christine sighed sadly. "This is a very inauspicious beginning to our first attempt at entertaining."

Erik shrugged and placed a kiss on Christine's head before leading her back into the drawing room.

The remainder of Boxing Day improved considerably. Daphne was happy enough for both herself and Maria Daaé. The week could not seem to move fast enough for Christine's liking. She was counting down the days until her mother would be returning to London. On the fourth day of January she would be leaving and things would return to normal at Cornwall.

* * *

"Christine, your mother is returning to London tomorrow," Erik commented as he watched her brush her hair out before retiring for the night. 

"She is," she agreed absently.

A soft smile lit her face as she considered finally having the house back to themselves and no more annoying guests to entertain. The fortnight with her mother and friends had been delightful, but she was eager to have things return to normal. Erik had been very reluctant to even kiss her during the last few weeks for fear of his mother-in-law. Hopefully that would change the moment her carriage disappeared down the drive. She shook the images from her head and attempted to listen to her husband.

"There is something I think you should tell her."

Christine paused with her brush halfway through a stroke as she tried to think of what she had neglected to tell her mother. She knew she was to become a grandmother again. What else was there? She shook her head and continued brushing.

"About your school... She should know; she will be proud of-"

"No she won't, Erik, and you know it! I have already told you of my mother's feelings on that matter," she said angrily, slamming down the brush and spinning around to stare wildly at him.

"She will when she realises that you have my full approval and support," Erik returned roughly. He rose from his seat and tugged her from her stool and into his arms. His voice softened as he continued, "I am so proud of you and all you do for the children; your mother will be too. I think you should tell her before she goes."

Christine sighed; Erik was right. She had been keeping it from her mother for too long. How much longer she could afford to – or manage – she did not know. "I will have to check with Daphne; it is her school too," Christine offered one final weak protest.

"She will agree. Now, stop arguing and come to bed." He placed a kiss on her forehead and led her to the bed.

True to Erik's prediction, Daphne quickly agreed to Christine's request. She could well understand her friend's reluctance to inform her mother but was secretly pleased that she had finally decided to share her secret. Mrs Daaé had a right to know what her daughter did. Mrs Daaé should be proud to have such a selfless daughter.

Erik, Christine and their three guests sat at the breakfast table chatting as they ate. Daphne kept shooting encouraging looks at her friend to Erik's right. Realising that she had almost missed her opportunity to tell her mother, Christine gripped Erik's hand and confessed all in a jumbled mess. The neatly rehearsed speech which she had spent most of the night planning was forgotten.

"Daphne and I own a school that we recently bought for England's war orphans. We bought it when I turned twenty-one. We teach Latin, accounts, grammar, mathematics! Erik is so pleased!"

Erik, Daphne and Ashlyn winced at Christine's proclamation. All eyes were on Maria as she slowly sifted through the mass of information Christine had given her. Her tea cup clattered down and cracked under the force.

"And Lord Erik is aware of this?"

Erik nodded. "I am aware of Christine and Mrs Walter's school. I admire both women greatly for their selflessness and contribution to society. I am particularly proud of Christine," he finished with the natural bias of a husband. "It is a particularly fine school." He raised their joined hands to his lips for a kiss.

"I suppose this is where you were always disappearing," Mrs Daaé demanded as she fixed her daughter with a severe look.

Christine nodded softly. She _knew_ she could trust Quintin! "Quintin never said anything."

"No, the wretched creature; I tried and tried, but she would never say where you went." She sobered quickly. "What you did was totally unacceptable, Christine. You went behind my back, ignored everything your father stood for and created this school!

"It is not acceptable for a lady to conduct business! If she wishes to contribute to charity, she should offer donations. This was not how we raised you, Christine!"

Erik frowned. "Christine's actions are _my_ concern, Mrs Daaé. As far as I can see, my wife has done nothing to warrant criticism."

"It was not Christine who conducted the transactions," Daphne protested. "Naturally my brother acted as my husband's proxy. It was Christine's idea to start the school. In fact, it was Sophia Daaé who inspired Christine's plan; she was so upset at Daniel's death."

Faced with Christine's husband and her friend's support, Mrs Daaé realised she would simply have to accept her daughter's school and attempt to be as proud of her daughter as her husband clearly was.

She drew a deep breath. "It is a very noble thing you and Mrs Walter have done, Christine. I should like to visit your school. Perhaps you would take me on a tour when you are next in the city?"

Which would not be another year, she realised with a sigh of relief. She would have a minimum of twelve months to prepare herself for the orphans.

Christine smiled and impulsively jumped from her seat and rushed around to hug her mother. "Thank you, Mama. It means so much to all of us to know that you approve of our school."


	16. A Heart's Treasure

The Phantom of the Regency

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay between chapters. I have been so snowed under that I just haven't had time to update. Things are settling down, so I'll be back to updating regularly. Enjoy.

**A Heart's Treasure**

Erik smiled smugly when he saw the letter written in a very feminine hand. He broke the seal and saw the response he had been waiting for. About time! He tucked the letter in the pocket of his coat and went in search of his wife. He found her in the garden cutting flowers. She glanced up as she heard him walk along the path and smiled.

Erik settled on the bench a few feet from her – still grinning – and looked expectantly at the space beside him. She set the cutters down, brushed her skirts and sat next to him. Noting his grin, she waited quietly for him to decide the appropriate moment to share his news.

"I have something you might find interesting."

Christine grinned – his excitement was catching! "What is it?"

Erik pulled the envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. She glanced down at the signature and frowned in confusion. _Lady Jersey_. She quickly scanned the missive and cried in delight at what she read.

She threw herself into Erik's arms and kissed his face. "Vouchers! Almack's vouchers! Oh, Mama will adore you! How?"

She had not realised how desperately she wished to belong to the exclusive club. At eighteen she had learnt that she would not be accepted because of her father and had quietly accepted the patronesses' decision. Heaven knows they easily could afford the fee. Until now, she had not realised just how dearly she would have liked to be a member.

And her darling husband had made that possible.

Erik explained the applications and the letters he had sent to the patronesses. Christine read through the letter carefully as she listened to Erik's explanation.

"She says here that she and the other ladies changed their mind after your last letter. What did you say to cause them to change their minds?"

"They were reluctant to give us vouchers because of your family, my deformity and the fact I'm a younger son. I merely reminded them that you are an heiress married to the brother of a peer of the real and that I served in the army for eleven years. Faced with such reasoning, they had no choice but to give us vouchers," Erik finished proudly as he tugged Christine to his side.

Christine wrinkled her nose as she considered the situation. "Erik, the Season is well and truly over! By the time it comes around again I will be too far advanced in my pregnancy to take part. The patronesses don't like seeing expectant women in Society!" She paused for a moment then giggled. "I'm now a member of _Society_!"

Erik failed to understand the importance of Christine's childlike outburst. She was now one of the elite who were accepted into Almack's. She was part of _Society_ and no longer considered a cit's daughter and society.

"The point is: you now have the vouchers. Whether you choose to use them or not is your decision. But-" Erik fixed her with a serious look – "I want to be able to waltz with my wife."

Christine smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. "You are dreadfully unfashionable, Erik. It's not right for a husband to live in his wife's pocket," she said with mock disapproval.

Erik found himself smiling at her playful tone. "Do you mind?"

Christine smiled at the thought of horrifying Lady Jersey by kissing her husband in the middle of the dance floor.

She shook her head. "Not one bit! I think we will shock London suitably when we decide to attend the Season." She tilted her head back and placed a kiss on his jaw. "You are wonderful!"

* * *

"It really is not that interesting," Erik informed Christine with a smile tugging at his lips.

They were going through their usual morning routine where Christine would sit in his dressing room, wrapped in her robe as she watched Erik shave. Erik had even instructed Miles to bring a stool into the room for Christine to sit on.

He did not know why it held such a fascination, but he enjoyed the way she would watch him so carefully. She would hold her breath as she watched, and when he finished, she would grab the towel and gently pat his face dry.

Christine wrinkled her nose at him. "The same could be said about you, Erik; it is not interesting watching Quintin dress my hair!"

"I disagree. I do not have quite as much hair to be styled; therefore it is something different and therefore intriguing. It, my dear, is an art form."

Christine smiled at him as she stood to remove the foam from his face. "You have just supported my argument."

"I see your point." Erik sighed in defeat.

She cupped his right cheek as she used her free hand to clean the left side of his face. She stood there contemplating his face and mask for a few moments.

"Has Miles seen you without your mask?"

"Only once."

Christine nodded and remained silent for a few moments. "What was his reaction?"

"Miles is paid well enough not to react to my deformity. Very well, you inquisitive creature! He refused to look at my face for nearly a fortnight," Erik muttered when he realised she would not be content with his cryptic comment.

She ran her fingers along the surface. "May I?"

Erik wrapped his hand around her wrist, stilling her exploration of his mask. Her softly uttered request to see his face disturbed him. He and Christine were becoming so close – almost like the married couple he had only dreamt of! He did not want to see her horror and aversion. Not now.

He dropped his arm to his side, Christine's wrist still within his grip.

"Erik, do you truly believe that seeing beneath your mask will change how I feel about you?" She raised her other hand to caress his smooth cheek. "You are my husband, and I have told you that I love you. Only when you stop loving me will I stop loving you.

"Whether or not you have your mask on does not change who you are. I fell in love with you because of the way you talk to me, the way you treat me and the way you hold me. It will not change a thing."

Erik watched his wife for a moment, considering her sweet words. The left corner of his mouth pursed as he made his decision. Moved by her plea, Erik slowly raised his hands and pulled the mask from his face. He clutched it tightly in his hand. If she fainted or screamed, he would be prepared and could quickly replace it. Although he prayed that would not happen.

He carefully watched her expression as she looked at her husband for the first time. Her eyes widened in surprise then her face paled in horror. He watched in agony as she took a small step back. She seemed to be resisting the urge to faint.

Just as she had done on their wedding night.

Erik began to replace his mask, only to be stopped when Christine took it from his hands and set in on the table next to the basin. She slowly raised her hand to the scarred side of his face, giving him ample time to prepare himself for the contact. He did not stop her.

Ever so lightly, she ran her fingers across the flesh. Erik's eyes closed as he felt another person touching that hated side of his face for the first time in just over thirty years. Her fingers touched every part of his face; his forehead, cheek and nose.

Cupping his face in both her hands, she marvelled at the different texture of the two sides of his face. The left was smooth and refined – the typical Regency gentleman. The right side was red and twisted and ruined, but _Erik._ He was the man she loved, and loved her in return.

"Christine." Her silence was too much to bear.

"They are both so different, yet they are both you." She smiled into his eyes.

Standing on her toes, she kissed his lips. Then she did the unthinkable. She placed light kisses on the most ravaged parts of his face.

Soon she would ask that he sleep without his mask. She did not want him hiding himself behind that piece of leather any longer.

"This changes nothing, Erik. I still love you, and to my eyes, you are the most handsome man!"

* * *

One month before Christine was expected to give birth, Erik wandered about the house in search of his wife. The time had come for him to talk to her about how she planned to raise their child. He was uncertain of the amount of interest Mrs Daaé had taken in her daughter, but he could clearly remember the lack of interest _his_ mother had taken in him. He did not want that for his child.

Christine was sitting on the terrace, her shoes and stockings forgotten somewhere nearby as she enjoyed the cooling breeze. The book she was reading was lying unopened on her lap as she stared out into her calming garden.

In the last few months, Erik had noticed how restless his wife had become and how she would often find her way to the garden. With the head gardener's help, she had transformed the overgrown mess into a formal garden, which she took great pride in maintaining and enjoying. It now resembled the garden he remembered from his childhood.

He assumed her escapes to the garden were due to the fact that he had banned her from riding – and anything to do with horses – the moment she announced she was expecting his child. Her protestations that she was a more than competent rider – as he had witnessed on numerous occasions – were useless. He could not risk anything happening to her or their child. He could not stand the thought of losing his wife.

Erik slipped into the chair by Christine's and took her hand in his. She jumped at the contact. Where ever Christine and her thoughts had been was far away.

"What has happened now?" Christine demanded nervously. She had seen the look in his eyes which seemed to have decided she would not like what she was about to hear.

Erik frowned in confusion but shook his head.

"Oh. Well, what is it you wanted to say?"

"I wanted to talk to you about the baby," Erik said in a strained whisper.

His announcement shocked Christine. This was the first time her husband ever initiated a conversation about the baby. Of course he would assist her or ban her from doing certain activities for fear of her and the baby's health. She would often feel his eyes fixed on her growing stomach and found herself begin to glow with happiness.

"What about the babe?"

"I want to know what servants you intend to employ."

Christine stared at him blankly. Her eyes became anxious, fearing her husband would not like her response. She had made her decisions long ago.

"Do you plan to employ a wet nurse?" he demanded roughly.

"_What_? No! You don't honestly think that I would give my child to another to nurse?" Christine retorted in horror. If she had the energy, she would have stood to glare down at her husband for suggesting such a thing.

"I hoped that you would not," Erik admitted softly. "What about a nanny?" Erik took her hand and held it tightly.

"Naturally. But, I plan to be in his or her life as much as I can." Christine grasped Erik's chin in her fingers and turned his head to face her. "If you fear that I will not care about our child and just leave it with a nanny all day, you can stop.

"Mama would only come to the nursery for tea perhaps once or twice a week; I was never allowed in the drawing room with the adults. I was fortunate that we lived in London, for I am convinced that if Papa had a house in the country I would have been left there with my nanny or governess while they took part in the Season."

Erik sighed in relief as he took Christine's hands and raised them to his lips.

"And if you are concerned I will send our sons off to boarding school when they are seven, you can stop that also. Perhaps when his tutor has taught him all that he can, then he can go to school." Christine smiled. She could easily see herself as one of these annoying mothers who would not let her children out of her sight and constantly meddled in their affairs.

"As for our daughters, well, I can teach them everything they need to know. They will _not_ be going to a finishing school. _Ever_." Christine shuddered as she recalled her time with the severe Mrs Tracy.

Erik grinned. It felt as if a huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. It was such a relief his wife intended to be such a protective mother – a far cry from his own. He wanted to ask what would happen if the child looked like him, but could not.

He pulled her onto his lap and dropped a kiss on her ear. "I could not agree with you more, darling."

* * *

Raoul de Chagny sat in his London club with Lord Mancroft, sharing a bottle of French brandy. Raoul gazed blindly into the fire. He had sent Christine numerous letters but he had not heard from her in months. Her bloody husband probably refused to frank the letters or burnt them before she could read them.

"Woman troubles?" Mancroft asked sympathetically.

Raoul nodded. "The woman I love is convinced that being with a monster is the best thing for her! I have tried to save her from her folly but…"

"Women! She thinks he loves her?"

"I don't know what to do."

Mancroft chuckled and poured himself another glass of brandy. "What you need to do is really quite simple. _Rescue her_."

Raoul looked at his drinking partner. He grinned and raised his glass in a mocking toast.


	17. The Tyrant

**The Tyrant**

The waiting was killing him!

Erik stalked across the drawing room floor for the seventh consecutive hour. When the doctor arrived in the early hours of the morning, Erik was banished out of Christine's bedroom and the birth of his child. It had been difficult enough to watch as she whimpered in pain as she felt the first stabs. It was all he could do not to run upstairs as he heard her cries intensify.

At around one o'clock, Drake came in with a tray of cucumber sandwiches and a decanter of brandy. Erik ignored the food and took a large sip of the drink. He sank down into the chair by the fire, resting for a few minutes.

For the first time, he wished that he had a male presence to keep him company during the hours spent waiting. Perhaps he could send for Miles. Erik shook his head and surged to his feet and continued his restless pacing.

Erik threw himself back into the chair and began to pick at the dry sandwiches. Damn that doctor for kicking him out of his wife's room! It was his house! Just because the good doctor believed childbirth to be woman's business did not exclude him from being there.

The feeling of being absolutely useless was becoming overpowering. He had not felt this powerless since Waterloo. He had to do something.

The clock tolled two o'clock as Erik climbed the stairs two at a time. He wanted to see his wife. He was beginning the walk down the hallway when he heard the cries of a baby.

He broke into a run and arrived at Christine's room just as the doctor opened the door.

Christine glanced between her daughter and her husband. She watched as Erik stroked a gentle finger down the baby's cheek. A bright smile lit her face when she saw the babe's tight grip on her papa's finger. Tears of happiness trickled down her cheeks. A smile softened Erik's face and, if Christine was correct, tears shone in his eyes.

Erik turned to his crying wife and kissed each tear away before turning his attention to his new daughter. She was perfect. It seemed she had her have mama's elfish face and dark curls and her papa's pale blue eyes. Her skin was flawless and so unlike his own. Erik sighed in relief. A huge weight lifted from his shoulders when he realised that his daughter had not inherited his looks.

"I am sorry, Erik."

"What for?" he demanded roughly, not taking his eyes from his daughter. "I am a father!"

"For not giving you a son. As much as you dislike admitting it, you are your brother's heir presumptive and will be expected to have a son," Christine explained rapidly when met with Erik's confused expression.

"The marquis and his Marquisate may go to hell! I have a child and she is the most beautiful thing." He placed a gentle kiss on his wife's lips, then his daughter's forehead. "She will not be going to a finishing school." He kissed Christine again.

* * *

Christine returned from the garden with a slight pink to her cheeks. She swung her bonnet by the ribbons as she approached the study where Erik was working for the morning. It was her second day of freedom after close to two months of confinement following the birth of Ives, named after Saint Ia, one of the saints of Cornwall. 

"What the hell do you mean you cannot do anything about it?"

Christine paused with her hand on the knob as she listened to her husband's furious voice. She heard the soft murmur of another man's voice and then Erik again.

"I have been after the deeds for the past year and yet he manages to outmanoeuvre me at every step! This is ridiculous, Jensen. I paid forty thousand pounds for this property and yet I do not own it! There is one way to be certain I will get the deeds to this house and yet you refuse to allow me to take that step."

"Trespassing on your brother's property will not solve your problems, sir. It will only add to them more like."

Christine covered the soft gasp with her hand. She had heard the solicitor's words – he was obviously close to the door. It was clear that the business man was feeling as defenceless and frustrated as Erik and was pacing the room.

Everything seemed to fall into place. Erik's reluctance to send the letter of thanks and invitation to spend Christmas with them in Cornwall to his brother and his family. The letters that were sent back and forth to his London solicitor. He had been cheated by his own brother and was trying to keep it from her; especially since it probably came from her dowry.

"It is not bad enough that he has cheated Christine out of her dowry, but he is announcing to anyone who will listen that he _gave_ me this house of the goodness of his own heart!"

Her intention to spend the afternoon with her husband was forgotten as she wandered up the stairs to Ives' nursery, her mind already making lists of things to do.

* * *

The journey to Wiltshire was harder going than Christine had expected. Yet she was able to make good time. She was delighted that Ives slept much of the journey and was not disturbed by the slight rocking of the carriage. 

She had ordered the driver to go as fast as safely possible. The entire business was unpleasant and she wanted it completed as soon as possible. She had not left a note for Erik – that was one thing she had not thought to do before she left. She did not want him to know what she planned to do. He would try to stop her.

"Is Lord Renton at home?" Christine demanded of the Renton butler the moment the door to the great house was opened.

Fagan blinked at the woman's direct nature.

"I am Lady Erik and wish a meeting with his lordship." She handed the butler her card.

"Lady Erik?" Fagan was so overwhelmed by the confident beauty his young master had married that he could do nothing more than repeat her. "His lordship is in the library, I believe, ma'am."

"Good, if you will direct me to the room, I will introduce myself."

Fagan smiled as he led Christine to the room before retiring downstairs to inform the staff that Lady Erik had just arrived and was clearly spoiling for a fight.

"Lord Renton, I assume?" Christine fixed the man in the wing chair with her most withering headmistress-look.

Benedict rose to his feet out of nature. He was a few inches taller than his brother and Christine was forced to tilt her head slightly to see his face.

"Why did Fagan not announce you?"

Christine waved the question away with disinterest. "I told him not to. I wanted to assess the man who runs such a large proportion of England without names and titles getting in the way."

His brows rose at Christine's statement. He had no idea who the woman was. Perhaps she was the new wife of his neighbour. It was clear she was a peeress.

"I am Lady Erik…your brother's wife."

"Won't you sit down, ma'am?" Benedict retreated behind a polite façade to mask his surprise when he realised he was talking to his brother's wife. He could not imagine why the little shrew was here. May be she was doing Erik's dirty work.

"Thank you, no," she responded with false sweetness. "I have only just arrived from Cornwall and would prefer to remain standing." She smiled at her brother-in-law's reaction to her refusal to sit and thereby his inability to sit.

"I have come on business. What can you tell me of the deeds to the house at Cornwall?"

"The deeds for Cornwall?" Benedict crossed from the fireplace to stand behind the desk.

"Yes."

"Ah, I assume you believe that I have them. Lady Erik, your husband is mistaken. He has the deeds."

Christine scoffed. This man truly was an appalling liar! "I don't believe that for a minute, Benedict! I have heard that you told your relatives that you gave the house to Lord Erik as a gift – which _he_ paid for. Yet he has not received the deeds." Her frown disappeared as she smiled sweetly at him. "May I call you Benedict; you are after all my brother."

Benedict shifted uncomfortably at being faced with the lie he had fabricated to earn him some financial gain from his mother's family.

"You look uncomfortable! No doubt it is because you _sold_ the property and did not give Erik the deeds." Christine informed him angrily.

"Lady Erik, this is insulting! You are implying that I am lying."

"You are lying! And your actions are not those of a gentleman! I am not a foolish chit. It is my understanding that Lord Erik paid you for the house and is yet to receive the paper that will give him ownership of it. Now, I am sure it was just an oversight on the behalf of your man of business but it has been a year."

"I do not have the deeds. They are in London."

"Well, that is a relief," Christine sighed as she sank into the seat, finally allowing Benedict to sit. "You will of course send for them immediately, won't you?"

"It will take a week at least – if not longer."

Now, her trump card. She was certain that he would keep such an important document in a safe on the estate and not in London.

"Oh. That is fine. If you would excuse me for one moment?"

Christine left the room, leaving Benedict with the feeling that he had just faced one of Wellington's attacks. He was still confused when Christine returned followed by two maids. One was carrying a newborn baby and the other had several bandboxes. Christine took the baby from the nurse and sat back in the chair.

"You won't mind if we stay while we wait for the deeds. We won't be any trouble. If you would just summon your housekeeper to show us to our rooms we will be out of your hair. What time to do you serve dinner?"

Benedict was horrified that he was being so quickly and successfully outmanoeuvred by a woman. _A woman_! His house was mad enough with all the staff he had and his pregnant wife and two daughters. He could not imagine what it would be like with Lady Erik and Miss Heaton. He shuddered as he imagined being woken in the middle of the night by his niece for her midnight feed.

"I will get the deeds for you now. They are in the study." Benedict quickly left the room for the papers.

Christine smiled at Quintin and the nanny before whispering to Ives about her clever plan and how relieved her papa will be when he discovered what they had done.

* * *

Christine had just returned home from her sojourn to her brother-in-law's home with the deeds tucked safely in her reticule. She had only stepped into the foyer when Erik came striding down the stairs. His look of agony was replaced by one of relief. 

"Where the devil do you think you have been?" he demanded in a growl as he clutched his wife tightly. He looked down at her face and kissed her roughly. She was in his arms again and was safe. The tension ebbed from his body as he held his wife.

When he had finished his meeting with his solicitor and found both his wife and daughter missing, Erik felt his carefully constructed world begin to crumble around his ears. He had questioned all the servants but none knew where she went. He wanted to chase after her but he had no idea where to look. Or why she had left him. He had to content himself with sending letters all over England in the hopes that someone knew where she was. He had written desperate letters to both Daphne and Drusilla, hoping that his wife had been in contact with one of them. But neither woman knew where she was.

Whatever her reason for leaving, she would eventually come home. He hoped. When she did come home, he wanted to be there.

Christine raised her head from his chest to look up into his eyes and smiled. Erik took advantage of Christine's upturned face and kissed her again. She ducked her head back to its resting position. She had not realised how she had missed being with her husband.

"I have been to see Benedict. I have the deeds to our house."

Erik held her away from his body and stared at her blankly, unable to respond. To find himself some time and allow Christine's announcement to sink in, he took Ives off her nanny. With his daughter safely in his arms, he led his wife to the sitting room. He saw that Christine was settled in the settee by the fire before he continued with his questioning.

"What do you mean you have been to my brother's home and have the deeds?"

Christine quickly explained how she overheard the conversation and had decided to take matters into her own hands. Her eyes never left him as he paced the length of the room. Ives whimpered, feeling her papa's frustration but quickly calmed when Erik spoke to her in his softest voice.

"Do not be angry with me. I had to do something; I could not bear seeing you so upset. I assure you that Ives and I are perfectly well and missed you terribly."

Christine held out her hand to him, inviting him to sit by her side. Erik smiled slowly and kissed his wife's hair.

Christine settled into Erik's side. His free arm was around her shoulder, stroking her upper arm. Christine stroked her baby's hair, feeling for the first time that everything was perfect; that they were a perfect family.

She glanced around the room and pouted. "There are no flowers."

"Flowers were the last thing on my mind," Erik responded dryly. "I spent the entire time trying to figure out where you had gone."

Christine's pout grew more pronounced. Erik chuckled and kissed it away.

"I will go and cut some while you take Ives up to nanny. Then we will have tea; you look as though you have not eaten in a week."

Christine watched her husband and daughter leave the room, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

As she stood in the sunlight of her garden, breathing in the fragrance, she realised just how much she had missed it during her confinement and the business journey. She began to cut at the roses, placing them in the basket she left at the back door. As she worked, she sang softly to herself. A light crunch of the gravel caught her attention. But, assuming it was her husband come to assist, she continued to cut the blooms.

As she turned to go inside, a gloved hand covered Christine's mouth and prevented the scream that rose to her throat. The basket of flowers fell on the path, scattering in a colourful mess. A piece of fabric was tied around her mouth, preventing further protests.

She was thrown over the shoulder of her kidnapper; all she could see was his breeches. Which, she realised were very fine quality. She tried to kick him and succeeded when he grunted in pain.

She was thrown into a carriage before the man joined her. The door slammed shut loudly, and then the vehicle was in motion.


	18. A Madcap Scheme

**A Madcap Scheme**

"Christine!"

Erik stepped out into the garden in time to see his wife's pink-clad form thrown roughly into a carriage. The door closed, and for the first time he saw the crest which graced the carriage. _Bastard_!

He watched in helplessness as the carriage sped away.

She was gone – again. There was no way in hell he was letting his wife go for the third time so willingly.

He strode inside, calling for the butler and his valet as he went. The two men stood in the foyer looking expectantly at their employer. Erik's eyes were lit with murderous fury.

Miles swallowed. He had seen that look many times on the Peninsula. He recalled the time when Lord Erik's sergeant had been shot by a Frenchie. Lord Erik's eyes glowed as he hunted down the man responsible and shot him perfectly between the eyes.

"Lady Erik has been abducted," he informed all the staff who had assembled. Many had heard the typically quiet Lord Erik shouting and had left their posts to investigate. "Miles, pistols and my rifle; fast. Drake, I want the fastest horse saddled straight away." The butler nodded.

Erik was about to step out the door when the nanny came down the stairs carrying a screaming Ives in her arms. Erik looked tormented as he took a brief moment to decide between settling his daughter and chasing after his wife. Erik hoped that Christine's abductor was so obsessed with her that he did not harm her. He was counting on that.

He took Ives and rocked and quietly sang to her in the middle of the foyer. After thirty minutes Ives' sobbing finally settled and she slowly drifted off in the safety of her papa's arms. He gently handed her back to her nanny and then swung himself up onto his horse.

He could see Miles' desire to go with him and save Lady Erik. He did not want the man to act as his conscience if he had the opportunity to kill the bastard who took his wife.

"Mrs Carson," Erik called over his shoulder as he turned the horse around. "Look after Ives."

The housekeeper blubbered a promise that she would look after the Miss Heaton as if she were her own babe as she watched Lord Erik gallop down the drive.

As he raced along the main road, Erik considered which property the Vicomte de Chagny could have taken his wife. As far as he knew, he only had the property in the Cotswolds and in London. And the one recently acquired in Tavistock.

The Cotswolds was close – within easy driving distance – but it was next door to his best friend. The London townhouse would offer the anonymity Raoul would want but it would take days to get there. They could have stopped at any of the dozens of inns along the way to the city.

Relying on his instincts, Erik turned the horse and took the road that led to Devon.

* * *

Christine glared at her captor. What had she seen in him? She had thought him very handsome and pleasant. But that hid his horrible and obsessive nature. He was so different to her husband.

Tears formed and burnt her eyes as she imagined her husband beside himself with worry. He would not know where she had gone or who had taken her. And Ives! Who would look after her baby girl?

She would. There was no way she was going to let her husband and her daughter go without a fight. With a feeling of renewed drive, Christine drew a breath, attempting to reason with Raoul.

"Erik will come after me. He will not let me go so easily." Raoul shrugged. "You had best let me go now. My husband served in the 95th for eleven years. He is a perfect shot."

"He is a monster."

Christine shrieked as she lunged at Raoul as he sat on the other side of the carriage. She stabbed blindly at him with the cutters she had been using in the garden. The fabric of his coat ripped but she did not hear the yelp of pain she had been hoping for.

Raoul wrested the cutters from her hand and threw them out the window. In a moment of panic, Christine began to scream as loud as she could in the hopes of gaining a passer-by's attention.

The sound of Raoul's hand connecting with her cheek silenced her. With a sob, she huddled in the corner of the carriage, praying Erik would find her.

* * *

Erik pounded on the front door of the Vicomte's home. Eventually a very stuffy butler opened the door. After several minutes of protesting, Erik raised the pistol to the man's head and cocked it. The man stepped aside and allowed Erik into the house.

"Where is de Chagny?" Erik asked as he replaced the hammer.

"He is in his bedchamber, I believe, sir."

"And the lady he brought with him?"

"There is no lady here, sir," the butler protested.

Erik cocked the pistol for a second time and aimed it at the man's skull. "Where is the lady?" The words were ground out between clenched teeth.

Erik had lost more time that he would have liked first when had to settle Ives and then when his horse had lost a shoe. It seemed as if the world was trying to keep him from saving his wife. He growled at the thought of losing her. He had been so close to losing her too many times; he had had enough.

"In the room with him."

Erik swore when he imagined just what the peer could do to his wife in his room. "If you value your worthless hide, you will take me to her."

Erik followed the butler, his pistol still cocked and trained on him as they mounted the stairs. They went up to the first floor and the butler stopped at the top of the landing.

"I do not wish to go any further. It is the last door on the left."

Erik nodded and quickly crept down the hall. Outside the door, he paused and listened for any sound of his wife. He could not hear anything over an incessant pounding.

Hoping the element of surprise was on his side, Erik opened the door. Raoul was standing by the door which Erik guessed led to his dressing room. Christine was nowhere in sight.

"Lord Erik, what a surprise," Raoul drawled as he inclined his head in mock civility. He bowed deeply to Lord Erik. "Welcome!"

"Where is my wife?" Erik demanded, his voice dangerously calm as he walked to stand in the centre of the room with the Vicomte.

"_Erik_!" Christine cried when she heard the sound of her husband's voice. She began to pound on the door again and rattle at the knob. "Let me go!"

Erik breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Christine. She was locked in the dressing room. As long as she was away from Raoul no more harm could come to her. "Let her go."

"She does not want to be with you. She does not love you; she told me so."

Erik dropped his pistol to his side as Raoul's words sank in. _She did not love him?_ Perhaps he had misinterpreted the scene. Maybe Christine went willingly with the Vicomte and had not been abducted. Perhaps it was all just an elaborately concocted scheme.

"Erik, please! Help me!" Christine scratched at the door in a desperate and useless attempt to escape her prison. "Let me out!"

She had already thrown the stool through the window in a hopeless attempt to escape. But when she looked out, she realised just how high up she was. There was nothing she could use to climb down.

"Yes, we should let her out," Raoul chuckled to himself. "If she stays locked in there she will miss out on the little show."

Raoul unlocked the door. Christine fell to the floor; her hair had fallen out of its pins long ago and now hung in dark curls around her shoulders. Her nails were broken and bleeding and a bruise was marring the right side of her face.

With newfound confidence knowing that her husband had followed her and was going to save her, Christine turned to Raoul. "I trusted you. I thought of you as a friend! You are nothing but a villain and a bloody heartless…seducer!"

Erik glanced at his wife in shock. He had never heard her utter any profanity considered acceptable for a lady. That she had so readily sworn at the French aristocrat unnerved him.

Raoul took advantage of Erik's momentary distraction and lunged at him. His hands wrapped around Erik's throat. For a moment, Erik enjoyed the irony – he was being strangled the same way he had strangled the peer nearly a year ago. He raised his hand and hooked Raoul square on his cheek.

Erik stumbled backwards when he was suddenly released. His hands rose to protect his face. The two men continued to fight. Jabs, elbows, crosses, backfists and hooks went everywhere. With his guard perpetually down too low to protect his face, Erik was able to beat Raoul until he bordered on unconsciousness.

"Erik!" Christine scrambled to her feet and clutched Erik's arm. She could see the hatred burning in his eyes and his desire to kill the man for attempting to take his wife from him.

"No, I won't kill you; no matter how much you may deserve it. I would not want to waste a ball on your worthless hide."

Erik glared at the bleeding aristocrat on the floor. He crouched down so that their eyes were level and fixed him with his cold gaze. He grabbed his coat and tugged him into an upright position.

"Can you hear me, de Chagny? Good. I want you to get the hell out of England. I do not care where you go; I just want you out of this country. If you are not gone by the end of the week, I promise you, I will hunt you down. And this time, my wife will not be here to save your neck. Do you understand me?"

Raoul nodded. "Out of England. Swear it."

Erik nodded, seemingly pleased with the response. He turned to his wife to find her gazing unseeing into the mirror. Her eyes came back into focus when he called her name.

Erik looked down at his wife. She looked so fragile and heartbroken. The tears she had been crying left streaks down her face. He touched the bruise on her cheek and cringed as she turned away from him.

She must think she looked terrible with her hair a mess and a black bruise on her face. Erik shook his head and held her close. She was the most beautiful creature no matter how bedraggled she may look. She could be dressed as a street urchin, covered in dirt, and he would still think her beautiful.

He placed a kiss on her cheek, picked her up gently and carried her downstairs.

* * *

Erik and Christine arrived back at Cornwall in the small hours of the morning. He had briefly entertained the idea of staying at a respectable looking inn, but decided against it. The proprietors would ask too many questions. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to be with his wife and daughter. 

He had nearly lost another thing he dearly loved this evening. He had nearly lost Christine the same way he had lost Lady Aleni. But he had managed to stop history repeating itself and bring his wife back to him where she belonged. He tugged Christine tighter and dropped a kiss on her head.

Erik pulled the horse to a halt at the front door and was surprise to see Drake open it. Miles and Mrs Carson were standing in the doorway. He looked up and noticed an abnormal number of lights glowing about the house for this time of night. Evidently a few servants were still about, awaiting news.

As he moved to hand Christine down to his valet, she whimpered and clung to his neck tightly. She had not been out of his embrace since they left the de Chagny estate; it had not taken long for exhaustion to claim her and for her to fall asleep in his arms. After a few soothing words, Christine allowed Erik to place her in the valet's arms as he swung off his horse. The moment he was on the ground, Erik took Christine back. She immediately settled and rested her head on his shoulder. Her eyes dropped shut.

"It is good to have you home, sir, ma'am," Drake said with a broad and out of character smile.

Erik nodded.

"Lord Erik, your lip, 'tis cut," Mrs Carson clucked over her employer.

Erik shrugged her concern off. "It is nothing. No questions," he ground out when the woman was about to protest further. "I know it is late, but would you see that a bath is drawn in Lady Erik's room and a plain meal is sent up as soon as possible? Miles, you may retire."

Mrs Carson and Drake nodded and watched as the lord mounted the stairs, his lady safely in his arms.

"Erik?" Christine whispered, lifting her head from his chest to look at his profile. "Can we go to the nursery? I want to see Ives."

He smiled; he would not have it any other way.

When Erik led Christine into her room some time later, the bath was waiting for her. Quintin was hovering in the background prepared to assist her mistress in undressing. When she stepped forward to help her remove the capelet of her travelling dress, Christine shrank away and into the comfort of Erik's arms. A few whispered words were exchanged between Erik and Quintin before the maid quietly slipped from the room.

Alone in the room, Erik began to strip his wife and helped her step into the hipbath. He carefully washed the blood and dirt from her body. When he tenderly washed her face and reached the bruise he broke the silence.

"How did this happen?"

"He hit me." She did not want to think of the horrid experience that Raoul – Raoul! – had caused.

She carefully pulled his mask from his face so that she could see his face clearly and ran her hand over his cheek. Their eyes never broke the contact as their hands caressed the marred side of the other's face. She sighed at the familiar sensation, pleased that he no longer pulled away.

"Why?"

"I tried to stab him with a pair of flower cutters; I didn't get him. They were in my pocket when he took me. When I screamed to try to get someone's attention he hit me."

Erik could not help but smile. "You are a very brave woman, Christine."

Tears began to fall down her cheeks. "I am not as brave as you think I am. I just wanted to run and hide from him, Erik! I just wanted to be home with you and Ives."

Erik placed a kiss on her forehead before holding up her towel. "You are safe now, sweet. He will leave England if he knows what is good for him. He will never bother you or our family again."


	19. The Best Father in England

**Phantom of the Regency**

A/N: Well, this is the very last chapter. It was very hard for me to write the ending; it was so hard that we will not be saying goodbye to the Heatons. I was more than happy to keep writing - and that it what I'm doing. I'm currently in the process of writing a sequel with Erik and Christine's children. That will be posted towards the end of the year. I would also like to thank you all for your wonderful response to PotR. You have all made my favourite story extra special. Thank you!

* * *

**The Best Father in England**

Several days later, Christine sat with Erik in the nursery watching Ives playing on the rug. The bruise had faded to yellow, which thanks to Quintin was nearly unnoticeable under cosmetics.

Erik watched as his wife kissed Ives' hand and then placed her finger in her palm. Her little fingers enclosed her mother's. Christine smiled at her baby and placed another kiss on her cheek. Ives returned Christine's smile then tried to suck her mother's finger. Christine laughed and turned to Erik in delight.

"Did you see that?"

"It would seem that she has her Mama's smile." Erik smiled at his wife and placed a kiss on her cheek. He still could not believe the things his daughter was now doing. It was only three months ago she knew only how to cry.

At the sound of her Papa's voice, Ives tried to lift her head and find him. Erik moved into her view. He handed her a rattle and had it talk to her in that lilting voice which caused Christine to melt every time she heard it.

Christine frowned at her husband. "You will scare her; rattles do not speak."

Erik lifted a challenging brow at Christine's announcement. "She enjoys it. I thought I might teach her when she is older. It really is very entertaining watching people think they are fit for Bedlam." Christine continued to frown at Erik. "Perhaps we can both teach her to play the piano and sing?"

Christine's frown instantly dissolved into a smile at the thought of taking music lessons at Erik's side.

Ives whined for a moment when Christine pulled her hand out of her wet grip but calmed immediately when Erik began to sing softly. Everything was forgotten as Ives lay there as entranced as her mother. Erik smiled at his two ladies. They both stilled whenever they heard him sing.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the family's quiet time together. A little maid popped her head in and informed Christine of a disaster with the servants that Drake could not order.

Christine cringed at the thought of having to sort out the disturbance. She placed a kiss on her daughter's head and then another on her husband's lips.

"Go and see to the problem," Erik ordered her gently. "I'll see that Ives goes down for her nap without any fuss."

Christine closed the door to the nursery and paused; her husband's voice carried to the hallway. She was certain Ives would be fast asleep by the time she reached the ground floor!

A half hour later, Christine returned to the nursery having lost one of her chamber maids. She sighed as she considered the interviews she would be forced to conduct over the next few days. Interviewing prospective employees was the task Christine disliked the most as lady of the house.

She quietly opened the door and stood in the doorway in wonderment. Erik and Ives were both asleep on the rug. Her little girl was snuggled comfortably on her Papa's chest, her head resting over his heart.

She quietly closed the door and ran down the hallway to her study to collect her sketchbook and pencils. The sight was too beautiful _not_ to draw. Perhaps if the portrait was of similar quality to Erik's she would have it framed and hung in their bedroom or the parlour.

Christine settled herself in the rocking chair and worked as quickly and carefully as she could. Erik was a light sleeper and she did not know when he would awake. She blocked the quiet bustle of the servants out and focused solely on her husband and child.

"Are you planning on showing me your sketch?"

Christine's head shot up with a squeak. Erik was watching her, his head now pillowed on his arm.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked nervously as she returned her attention back to her sketch.

"I heard you come in and stand in the doorway then close the door. I must have fallen asleep again." He grinned. "I have only been awake long enough to discover that you are drawing us."

Christine compared her drawing to Erik and Ives. It was not bad. Perhaps with a little help from Erik it would be suitable to have framed. She glanced again at her work; she would definitely have it framed.

"I could not help but draw you; you were both too beautiful to resist."

Erik shook his head. He would never get used to his wife telling him that he was handsome or beautiful.

"When you finish, perhaps you might like to put Miss Heaton in her cradle. As much as I adore having her use me as a bed, the ground is a little uncomfortable."

* * *

A few weeks later, Erik and Christine sat in the parlour admiring Christine's portrait which had been positioned over the fireplace. It had turned out far better than Christine could ever have hoped. Every time she looked at it, she could not help but smile at the absolute trust Ives had in her masked papa. 

Erik shook his head and kissed her head. Deciding to risk being discovered, he lowered his lips to Christine's. With a contented sigh, Christine cupped his face with one hand while her free arm slipped inside his open coat and around his waist.

A maid pushed open the door with the tea tray and immediately regretted the action when she saw the couple embracing on the settee.

Erik growled against Christine's lips before raising his head. "What is it?"

"Umm, it is just the tea, your lordship," the maid said nervously as she began to arrange the tray in front of Christine. "Cook has made a plate of sandwiches." Everyone was aware of Lord Erik's fondness for cucumber sandwiches and was as quick as her ladyship to take advantage of the knowledge.

Christine hugged Erik before she began to pour the tea. She glanced up at the portrait again and smiled to herself. She smiled brilliantly and then placed a kiss on his jaw. "Poor Ives will not be pleased to have a younger brother."

Erik looked at his wife in surprise. Surely she could not…already? Ives was barely three months old.

She handed him his cup with a shake of her head. "No; not yet. But I do want a large family, Erik."

"I never expected to have a wife, let alone a whole brood," he confessed softly. "I too like the idea of a large family; six girls and one boy…Or maybe four girls and three boys."

She took a sip of her tea and looked at him over the rim of the cup. "Perhaps we could try for a son this time?"

Erik removed the teacup from Christine's hands and set it carefully down on the table. He rose and pulled her gently to her feet before scooping her into his arms to carry her upstairs. Christine kissed along his jaw as she tugged his cravat off and dropped it onto the floor. Her slippers negligently landed in the hallway with a soft thud.

Drake stood at the bottom of the staircase watching his master and mistress make their way up to their chambers. He smiled at the pair. He had best inform Cook that dinner would have to be put back an hour…or two.

* * *

EPILOGUE 

_Summer, 1823_

Lord and Lady Erik stood by the refreshments table, both carefully taking in their surroundings. Finally, Christine was standing in the Assembly Room of Almack's. She finally had permission to waltz!

The couple had been in London for three days and intended to stay only until the end of the week. Ives was delighted to be staying with her Grandmamma – Erik, however, was not quite as thrilled. It would be the first time that Mrs Daaé would see Roderick, her newest grandson since his birth three months earlier. On the morrow, Christine and Erik would be showing Mrs Daaé the school and then taking tea at Gunter's.

Christine smiled up at her husband. She took his hand in hers, well aware of his discomfort. Knowing what he risked joining her at the club, Christine could not help but fall a little more in love with her husband. Everything he did, he did with her best interests in mind. After eight years of anticipation, Christine was reluctant – but honest enough – to confess that she was slightly disappointed with the celebrated Almack's.

When Erik looked as if he was about to dissolve into the shadows, the orchestra played the opening chords of a waltz. He seized the opportunity and quickly pulled Christine onto the floor for her first waltz. He pulled her closer than Society generally allowed and smiled softly into her eyes.

Christine had to admit that dancing with her husband held a great deal of appeal. Erik was a much better dancer than the dance master she had at seventeen. The scent of his cologne seemed to envelope her. She sighed when his fingers stroked her waist and shifted closer.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?" Christine asked in a husky whisper.

"Not since this morning." His grip tightened on her waist.

"I love you, Erik. I love that you came here with me."

Erik stopped leading Christine around the floor and looked down at her with a serious expression. "I love you, too. I cannot not tell you how pleased I am that you danced your first waltz with me."

Christine smiled at his words and raised a hand to the right side of his face. "I only want to waltz with you."

Erik lowered his head to Christine's and covered her lips with his own. He tugged her firmly against his body and when Christine's arms wrapped around his neck, he deepened the kiss.

Lady Jersey stared at the embracing couple with a combination of dismay and horror. Never had she seen such a shocking display of affection in Society! The hard look in her eyes softened when she saw the loving look the couple shared before ordering their carriage and cloaks.

She smiled to herself when she saw the way Lord Erik carefully draped his lady's cloak about her shoulders. Lady Erik made a comment to her husband while caressing his jaw and was treated to a nod and a brief kiss on her palm. Lady Jersey's smile grew as Lord Erik quickly escorted his wife out to their carriage.

It was a known fact that her ladyship had a fondness for romances. Theirs, it seemed, was a match made in heaven. She smiled to herself and ordered a glass of champagne.


End file.
